The Aftermath
by LilaMae1
Summary: What happens after the finale of Series 1? Epilogue now up!
1. A few more days

First ever story, so be nice!  If you like it, I plan on continuing into a series, the next chapter with a focus on Anya, Tom, Greg & the others.

Whitaker watched through a one-way mirror down into the cold, sterile examination room where Abby Grant was being held. It had been three days since she had been brought here, and numerous tests had been done, all concluding that Abby Grant's results were insignificant. He glanced down at his watch. 11.04 am. Samishould be here by now.

"Whitaker?". A quiet voice sounded out in the bare office.

Whitaker spun round sharply. "The final results? What are they?".

"...Nothing new. They're the same as all the others."

There was a short pause as Whitaker gave a frustrated huff and turned back to watch the woman.

"There has to be more. You said it yourself, she's unique. No-one else survived getting the virus. She's our last hope of finding a cure."

"We may never find one! Are you prepared to accept that? It's been over a month since the virus struck, and we're no closer to finding a cure than we were then. More than thirty survivors have been dragged into this place, and nothing's been found."

Whitaker had stood silently during this speech, continuing to stare at Abby's figure, pacing back and forth in the examination room below. His next words were quiet, controlled.

"It takes time, Sami. It could be months, years, before we can go out into the world again. Just be patient. We *will* find a cure."

Sami finally came out of the doorway in which he had been standing, and stood in front of Whitaker, blocking Abby Grant from the older man's view, in an almost protective manner. Whitaker's eyes finally met his, and Sami felt a hollow chill course through his body at Whitaker's cold, calculated stare.

"You promised me that Abby Grant would not be harmed in any way," Sami said in a low voice.

"Yes," said Whitaker, in a slightly strangled tone. "Yes, I did".

Whitaker's eyes, however, did not quite meet Sami's. Sami had known Whitaker for years, ever since he had come to work at the laboratory. The man had always had a harsh edge, but the edge had always been softened by a sense of order, of civilisation. Now that chaos ruled, Whitaker had been brutalised, stripped of a sense of morality, in a desperate quest to survive. Sami recognised the look that haunted the eyes of the man before him, the same one that had ordered the death of an innocent woman, and may yet cause the death of another.

"They're human beings," Sami insisted. "They deserve dignity, respect! You cannot keep doing this. It's wrong!"

"There is a greater good, Sami. The human race needs to survive. WE need to survive," Whitaker said, moving slowly to sit in the only chair in the stark, bleak room.

Sami tore his eyes away from Whitaker's. "Did you ever think..."

"...Did I ever think what?" asked Whitaker guardedly.

"Maybe we were not destined to survive. These people, the ones who survived the plague, perhaps they are alive for a reason. Some may starve or get sick, but they can survive outdoors, they don't *have* to wear protective suits just to venture out into the sun. I don't want to die in this prison, Whitaker."

"One day, Sami, we shall walk in the sun. When we find the cure, we can be free."

Both men fell into an uncomfortable silence, wondering what the price of freedom would be. Whitaker got up slowly, as if he lacked the strength to move, and started to make his way to the door.

"Abby?" said Sami, reminding the older man of his earlier promise.

Whitaker's hand stopped on the door frame, and he turned his head slightly.

"Just a few more days, Sami. I promised you she would not be harmed. But there is something else, something we have missed. There must be. Just a few more days".


	2. The others

Chapter 2

**Just so you know, this one starts directly after Abby is taken, but then catches up to the time of the previous chapter. Thanks for the review, ObsessedFanStar58!**

**Oh, and I forgot before. Disclaimer! I do not own these characters, or anything else for that matter.**

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"Tom!"

Tom, having tried to run after the van in which Abby was held, lowered his rifle slightly, and ran back towards Anya. He placed his gun on the bonnet of the car, and bent down. Looking at the man lying on the floor, he didn't need Anya's medical training to realise that Greg was in very bad shape. Greg's eyes were wide, his breath came in short gasps, and his skin seemed to be going blue. Anya was whispering to him quietly that he was going to be fine, asking him to look at her, but her voice betrayed the underlying panic and residual shock of Greg's shooting and Abby's kidnap.

"They've taken Abby. Why have they taken Abby?" Sarah directed at Tom.

"Tom, could you get my medical bag, please? It's next to the blankets in the back," said Anya, distractedly.

As Tom ran to get the bag, Sarah stood awkwardly next to the car, arms crossed as if she were freezing. Having served her duty of pressing the car horn to get Tom back, there was little else she could do but stand there. The same thought seemed to have crossed Tom's mind, and as he hurried past her with the bag, he threw the car keys at her, which she caught in surprise.

"Go get Al. You're useless here," he said brusquely, not bothering to make eye contact.

Sarah's lips pouted slightly at this insult, but she did as he said, and within seconds, the car had disappeared from sight. Tom drew his full attention to Anya, who now had a purposeful aura about her. Greg was now shifting his head from side to side, and did not seem to be listening to their conversation.

"Is he going to be alright?" Tom asked her, with a much gentler tone than he had used with Sarah.

"I don't know yet," said Anya, who was rummaging in her bag, and quickly produced a stethoscope, and started listening to Greg's now bare chest. After several seconds, Anya sighed in a frustrated manner, and started to rummage in her bag again.

"What's wrong?" asked Tom.

"I think he has a tension pneumothorax. One of the bullets must have caused a tear in the lung tissue, and the air in his lungs is escaping," Anya swiftly replied, taking a needle out of the bag. "I have to put this needle into his lung to release the air."

As she slowly drove the needle into his chest, a loud hiss sounded out. Anya's face relaxed ever so slightly, and she nodded to herself as she heard the hiss.

"That's the air escaping," she told Tom with a small, nervous smile.

After a minute or so, Greg's breathing had become slightly easier, and his face had lost some of its pallor. His eyes wandered over the scene before him, and then focused on Anya. He gripped her arm.

"A-Abby?" he managed to speak.

"Don't talk," she soothed, with her hand resting softly on his forehead.

"What do we do now?" said Tom.

Anya shrugged slightly. "We wait for Sarah to get back with the car. Tom...Dexter?"

"He'll have run off by now. No point going after him, not on foot."

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Sarah drove carefully through the streets. She had seen no sign of the van that had taken Abby, and she could no longer hear the sound of the helicopter. She was glad about that; she had no animosity towards Abby, but she was certainly not one for suicide missions, and to go up against 10 or so men in order to get her back would certainly count as one.

However, it had not escaped Sarah's notice that the only one to speak up and say that she could come with them was Abby Grant, and that with Abby gone, Sarah herself was in a rather precarious situation. The others had been horrified when they realised what she had done, leaving Bob to die like that, (although she had noticed Tom was not overly concerned about it), and she had felt herself become more unpopular by the minute.

It was betraying Anya, though, that they seemed to consider the bigger sin. Al was fond of Anya, but he was also of a relatively mild and forgiving nature. Unfortunately, Al was more of a follower than a leader, and she doubted he cared enough about her to go against the others if they kicked her out of their little group. Najid, as the child, held little sway, even if he wasn't currently missing. Greg, of course, was incapacitated, but even so, Greg had never seemed as enamoured with her as she had once hoped. Anya had certainly been...displeased over Sarah's betrayal. Sarah wondered if, with Abby's calming presence no longer bridging the gap, Anya would want Sarah gone.

It was Tom that she feared most. In some ways, betraying Anya had been the ultimate test, to see if Tom could learn to love her without the distraction that Anya posed. It had become obvious the moment he walked into her room that it had been a mistake. The affection, or probably more accurately, the toleration, that Tom had for Sarah had dissipated the moment that she had told that man that Anya was a doctor. Abby's kidnapping had left a power vacuum within the group, and with Greg's incapacitation and Tom's strong and forceful character, Tom was a top contender to fill the breach. She could see quite clearly that Tom's violent nature could, at best, send her off packing, or at its worst, kill her.

Sarah pulled in to the kerb to check the map again. Letting out a breath, she opened up the map and trailed her fingers over the multicoloured lines. Pausing slightly, she ran her index finger over the towns and villages. It occurred to her that she could go off on her own. She had all their gear. Tom and Anya were stuck with Greg, Al was up in that tower block, and Najid was who knew where. None of them would realise what she had done until she was far away.

Sarah mused on thoughts of her old warehouse dream. Perhaps she could find another warehouse, get the workers and huge vegetable garden that she had imagined. She dwelled on this peacefully for a while until reality, unfortunately, began to sink in. She had already lost one warehouse to a band of thugs. She was incapable of defending such a place herself, and who knew whether she would find anyone willing to protect her? No, she thought. She couldn't survive on her own. She certainly couldn't go back to Willis', where Bob was. Her only option for the moment was to stay with this merry band of misfits and hope for the best.

She sighed quietly, reached for the clutch, and went to get Al.

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_Three days later_

Anya sat on the stone wall, her foot tapping rhythmically against the stone as she watched Greg, lying a few feet away from her, sleep fitfully. It had been difficult. First the pneumothorax, then trying to deal with the blood, having to remove the bullets, and all without the conveniences that modern medicine had provided her with before the plague. Greg had survived, though, which was the important thing. He was still in poor condition, however, and she was anxious that he get enough rest.

A low mumbling caught her attention as Najid moved slightly in his sleep. The field next to the graveyard in which they were camping for the night was not particularly comfortable, especially as they had decided against packing tents. Al, as if sensing the young boy's discomfort, moved Naj's blanket up slightly. Anya smiled slightly at seeing them. She had been very relieved to see Najid again, returning with Sarah and Al, but upon finding that Abby had disappeared and Greg had been shot, Najid had become quite agitated. They had been concerned that Najid was blaming himself, but attempts to talk to him about it were shut down fairly quickly.

Anya looked over to Tom, and was surprised to find he was awake, and staring at her. Seeing her notice him, he quietly got up and came to sit next to her.

"Have you been awake watching him all night?" he asked her in a low tone.

"I have to watch him. In case something happens," she said with a tired smile.

Tom shifted on his feet. "You're no good to him if you're so tired you can't think straight."

Noticing little reaction to this remark, Tom hesitated before his next one, "Look, go to sleep. I'll watch him. I promise to wake you if anything happens, ok?" As he said this, he held out his hand to help Anya get down.

"...Ok," she whispered as she took his hand.

Tom climbed up to the spot that Anya had just vacated, and watched the others sleep.

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So, REVIEWS! Most important thing in the world, obviously. Hopefully, the next chapter will have Abby and Sami.


	3. Cabin Fever

Chapter 3

I decided that instead of just focusing on Abby and Sami, I would switch between the two groups (Abby and Sami; Tom, Anya & the others), since more Tom/Anya was requested. Just so you know, all the events of this chapter occur in the same day, except for the last bit. I'm a bit uncertain about this chapter, but I'll post it anyway.

Thank you to ObsessedFanStar58 and JustABellaWaitingForHerEdward6 for their reviews. As always, I adore reviews!

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A few days, Whitaker had said, a few days to run a plethora of unnecessary tests on Abby Grant. Sami had agreed to it at first, if only for the sake of peace in the isolated prison in which they were now forced to live together. Three days had passed in relative calm, as Whitaker continued to reassure Sami that Abby was to be released shortly. The fourth came and went, and Whitaker's appearances in the labs and offices became scarcer. It was on the sixth day that Sami went looking for him, but Whitaker was holed up in his private office, doing more and more tests, with armed guards placed at the door. When Sami asked to be admitted into the room, he was informed that Whitaker could not be disturbed.

It was now the seventh day, and Sami could see perfectly well that Whitaker was not going to keep his promise, and perhaps never meant to. He also had heard the frustrated shouting and the noise of glass shattering that emanated from Whitaker's room the evening before. He knew that it would not be long before Whitaker's frustrations led him to order invasive surgeries, or even a post-mortem. In all likelihood Abby Grant would never make it out of the bunker alive.

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They had been resting the last three days at an old farmhouse which had the advantages of a pantry full of tinned food and an Aga. The inhabitants of this house, a family of four, had been found dead upstairs, and after the bodies had been burned and the bedrooms checked for goods, the door to the stairwell had been closed and all of them had refused to open it again. The three rooms downstairs had quickly been designated as one bedroom for the girls, one for the boys, and the kitchen as the main living space.

The main discussion on the first day had centred on getting Abby back. However, any ideas they had, from getting her back using force or through negotiation, ran into the problem that they had no clue where Abby was actually being held. Through turning over events over and over again, they had managed to deduce only that the men were obviously under orders, that their sponsors must be highly organised, and that they had been after Abby and no one else. By the second day, their talk of getting Abby back had dwindled, although the tension levels were high. The third day arrived, and Anya, Al and Naj had been forced to go foraging for more items, while Tom, Greg and Sarah held the fort. The three latter were standing in the kitchen as an argument which had been simmering for days suddenly boiled over.

"So what, you're just giving up? After everything we've all been through together, we're just going to abandon her?" Greg furiously shot at Tom. Greg's health had improved tremendously over the week, although Anya said that she couldn't be certain of the long-term effect of the shooting on his lung; this particular tirade caused Greg to become slightly breathless.

"We're not abandoning her, Greg. What is it that you want to do? Charge around the country hoping we stumble across the freaks who took her?" Tom had calmly replied.

"You know what, Tom? It would be nice if you could even _pretend _that you cared. It's a bit strange that you're so reluctant to do anything here, but with Anya you're the first one to suggest that we "_charge around the country_" as you put it". Greg's voice had started to get louder, and his speech punctuated by threatening hand gestures.

Tom seemed stunned to silence for a brief moment, and Sarah felt a momentary pang at the look in his eyes. It was one she recognised, the one he used whenever he was thinking of Anya. She had believed that, being so in love with Tom herself, she was the only one who had discovered Tom's feelings for Anya, and so she was rather surprised that Greg seemed to have picked up on it too. Tom's reply, however, was lost when Al, Najid and Anya entered the kitchen carrying bottles of water.

"What's going on?" Al asked, feeling the tension in the room.

Neither Tom nor Greg looked at him, but continued to glare at each other for a few seconds before Tom turned to the three who had just arrived.

"Nothing's going on. Did you find much?"

"Not really," Anya sighed worriedly. "We only went into a few houses, and then we saw a burning car. We didn't want to risk meeting the people who started the fire."

While Anya was speaking, Al had continued to stare at Tom and Greg. Greg was glaring daggers into the back of Tom's head. After 3 days of virtual cabin fever, the stress of dealing with a traumatised and near-silent Najid, and having witnessed the continued antagonism between the two men, Al's patience was wearing very thin. He slammed his bottles down on the kitchen table.

"I asked you what was going on," Al's voice was tense, and his words came out of gritted teeth.

Sarah had jumped in shock at the sound of the bottles slamming, and even Tom had looked surprised. Al had never seemed one to act out physically like some men, but the former playboy had had the reality of survival smacked into him suddenly over the past few weeks, and Greg and Tom's refusal to accept him as an equal had angered him.

Greg seemed to consider Al for a moment before answering him. "Tom here refuses to go and look for Abby. Seems to think it isn't quite worth it."

"Don't twist my words, that isn't what I said," said Tom, who had moved into Greg's personal space a bit too much for Greg's liking, whose voice started to get loud again.

The argument continued for almost half an hour, mostly between the men, although Sarah had a few comments to throw. Najid looked on in distress, and Anya sat on a chair in the corner of the room, her posture tense. Suddenly, she got up, opened the door, and banged it shut behind her as she stormed out of the building. A silence descended on the group, who looked around at each other rather guiltily. Anya's exit seemed to have taken the strength that anger had lent Greg, and he sat down with his hand over his chest, wincing.

"Shouldn't someone go after her?" Najid said uncertainly.

"I'll go," said Tom, who made his way to the door before anyone else could say anything.

He made his way to the front garden, which was now bathed with the light of a red sunset. It was cold out, and there was an eerie stillness, broken only by the wind rustling the now overgrown grass. He looked around for Anya but could not see her. He started to panic slightly, but then realised they had heard no engine starting; she could not have gone far. He went down the path to the gate, and looked both ways down the lane. She was sitting some distance away in a stone-built bus shelter on the other side of the road, gently tearing apart a leaf she had taken from a nearby bush. Tom made his way towards her, and sat down next to her. She looked up as he did so, and threw the dissected leaf away.

"Sorry. I'm just tired, that's all. I haven't slept much, what with Greg, and then I keep worrying about Abby..." her voice was getting more distressed, so Tom interrupted.

"You don't have to apologise."

The two sat at the bus stop, comfortably silent, watching the sun go down under the horizon. Eventually, Tom noticed that Anya was shivering slightly; she had left the cottage with only her T-shirt.

"We should go back," he told her, and she nodded in agreement. He was surprised when she suddenly put her arms around him, with a "Thanks, Tom", and even more so when he found himself hugging her back. He tightened his arms around her for a moment, then took her hand and led her back to the cottage where the others were waiting.

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He knew he had to do something. Billions of people had died because of something that he did, and Sami wanted redemption. Redemption, however, was not something that could be easily gained trapped in a bunker doing obsolete tests on unwilling subjects. It was mid-afternoon on the seventh day after Abby had arrived that Sami had fully formulated his plan to escape the bunker with Abby Grant. He had managed to persuade Danny, a close confidant of his, to assist him by finding Abby's friends. They had managed to capture the license plate of one of the cars, and so they would try to match that with any cars that happened to be driving on motorways headed southbound with one of the three helicopters. It was a long shot, he knew, but it wasn't as if Abby could really survive on her own if he happened to get sick.

_Four Days Later_

"Sami!" Danny shouted as he burst into Sami's office about 2pm.

Sami stood up quickly, hopefully. "Her friends' car?"

"I've been on the phone with the helicopter pilot's assistant. They caught sight of them on the motorway heading for Dorset. They stopped at a house around an hour ago, and they seem to be unpacking a lot of stuff. They'll be staying a few days at least, he thought."

Sami started to hurriedly gather papers, placing them on a clipboard.

"Did they see the helicopter?" Sami asked.

"No. They were flying high up in the sun, like you said."

Sami stopped in his paper-gathering for a minute. Danny had risked a lot to help him, and was probably the one person in this place that he trusted. He felt slightly overwhelmed, knowing that he would probably never see him again.

"Danny..."

"Don't mention it. Go on. Save your damsel in distress," Danny smiled. "Just send us a postcard."

"You could still come with us."

Danny's smile faltered slightly. "There's nothing left for me out there. I'm better off here. Hurry up, it'll be better for you if you get a car sooner rather than later."

Gathering his medical bag and clipboard, he shot Danny one last goodbye before he ran out of the room. He raced down the corridors until he reached the corner before his destination. At this point, he smoothed down his hair and tie and tried to get his heart rate down. He peered briefly around the side to see the door leading to Abby's room. He was glad to see that only one man was on duty, a slow character by the name of Greaves. It had not occurred to Whitaker that Sami, for all his verbal protest, would seriously do anything to release Abby. The man was purely there to stop Abby from getting out.

"Hey, I'm here to see Abby Grant? I have to take her to the examination room now," he declared with an air of authority. He moved towards the door as if the idea he wouldn't be permitted access hadn't crossed his mind.

"Wait," said Greaves, a confused look crossing his face. "I'm...I'm supposed to get authorisation for when she's let out."

"Greaves, is it?" Sami said condescendingly. "Look, Greaves, I'm supposed to take Abby Grant to the examination room immediately. Whitaker looked to be in quite a rage. If you want to annoy him further by delaying his work, I'm sure he wouldn't throw you into the street in a fit of pique or anything."

Greaves' eyes widened at this. Whitaker's loud threats had become commonplace the last few days, and this one the commonest of them all. Greaves had no desire to go outside; he had heard the stories from the helicopter pilots about the burning buildings and millions of unburied bodies. Reluctantly, he stepped aside to make room for Sami.

"OK, but you better have authorisation next time. I'll let you off for now," said Greaves, using a tough voice in an attempt to save face.

Sami opened the door to Abby's room, and closed it carefully behind him. A woman with brown hair was sat on the bed, looking up at him.

"Abby Grant? I'm here to take you to the examination room for some tests. Come with me, please."

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So, yeah, over 2000 words! The little green button below is your friend. And yes, the so-far neglected Abby will make a proper appearance next chapter!


	4. Escape

Chapter 4 already! Just a short one. Doesn't time fly when you're having fun *wink*?

Disclaimers: Don't own them.

As always, thank you to Bella and Obsessed. Reviews are always appreciated. If there are any others of you out there, review! Your names shall be prettily transcribed on the next chapter.

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"Abby Grant? I'm here to take you to the examination room for some tests. Come with me, please."

It had been the same refrain for about 10 days. Or was it eleven? After the first week, she had stopped bothering to count. Fear and panic had since given way to a weary acceptance, although she never stopped her imaginary escapes. Every day it was the same routine. Wake, wash, go through tests, eat, sleep. Although "sleep" wasn't something she had got much of. She spent most nights awake in her bedroom-like cell wondering about Tom, Anya, Greg and the others. Whether Greg was even alive, that was. She wondered if she'd ever see them again. Then she'd imagine Peter, trying to remember the contours of his face, savouring memories of old holidays with her husband and son.

"Abby?" The young Asian man had spoken again, quietly, respectfully. Certainly a change from the brash older man who treated her like she was a lab rat.

"What is it this time? They've already done a blood sample today, if that was what you were after," she said in an irritated tone.

"No, no. Not a blood sample. Just some more...tests." The man looked slightly harassed, as if he was concentrating on something else.

"Might as well get it over with," she said, lifting herself off the bed.

She followed him out of the room, saw him throw a quick thanks at a rather bemused-looking guard, and went down the corridor. As they came closer to the examination rooms, she made a movement to go to the right, the same as all the other times that she'd been called for more tests, but was surprised to find that the man's arm was blocking her way. She looked up at him, to find his expression slightly apologetic.

"Sorry, it's...it's left. We have to go left."

"What do you mean? The examination rooms are this way," she said, confused.

"We're using different examination rooms today." The man smiled and beckoned her to go in the direction he had indicated. Abby shrugged and went as he directed; it didn't matter to her whether she went left or right in the grand scheme of things, she was still a prisoner. She had already experienced the...belligerent...attitude of the guards, and had decided that for the time being, that it was wise to choose her battles.

The corridor they were on was very long, with many twists and turns. After about 5 minutes of trying to catch up to the man escorting her, she was feeling her confusion grow. Surely the wouldn't have examination rooms this far from everyone? Maybe they didn't want anyone to see, or hear, what was going on in them? Before she could dwell on this thought, they suddenly came to a door. A fire-escape door. The man opened the door, went outside, and held the door open for her. She stared at him for a second, unsure, but then realised that there was nothing to lose by following the man, who seemed to her to be a rather unorthodox member of this little bunker.

The door opened out to a winding metal staircase, which went down 3 floors to an empty underground car park. Immediately upon closing the door behind her, the man let out a breath that he seemed to have been storing. He turned to her, and spoke rather anxiously and hurriedly.

"Look, I can't explain everything now. We've managed to find your friends, and I'm taking you back. We have to hurry, they won't let you just leave."

"What do you mean, you've found them?" asked Abby, stunned by this new turn of events.

"In Dorset. Look, I haven't the time to explain," he said, all the while running through the cars, glancing at the number plates. "Ah. Here we are."

He stopped next to a small van. Taking a key out of his pocket, he opened the van and opened the back doors. He opened them briefly, and Abby managed to sneak a glance at the inside; bottles of water, tins of food, tents, and a whole array of other items. He slammed the doors shut again, satisfied. He went round the side, opened the passenger side door, and motioned for Abby to get in.

"Why should I trust you? For all I know, you could be planning on killing me or something."

"I'm not the one planning to kill you. They are. If you want to stay here you can, but I have no choice but to leave," he said, starting to lose patience now. She stood for a moment, staring at him. He was right. That man, Whitaker, seemed to be getting more and more agitated each day; there was no knowing what he could do. Her safest option at the moment was to trust this man, whoever he was. She ran into the passenger seat and shut the door behind her. Before she knew it, they were driving through the gate. A thought suddenly occurred to her.

"I don't know your name."

"My name's Sami."


	5. Dorset

CHAPTER 5

Thank you to Bella, Obsessed and chocolate scones for the reviews.  Not a terribly thrilling chapter, I am afraid, but it is necessary.

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It had been good for them to move on. Anya had declared that Greg was fit enough to go through another move, and immediately it was decided that they should go to Dorset. While they had by no means planned to abandon Abby, they saw a necessity for a proper base to work from. They realised that they had been wasting time; they needed to find agricultural land, find a house large enough to accommodate them all, and get as much livestock and tools as they possibly could to ensure their own survival.

"Have you got the chickens?" yelled Najid to Al.

"Yes, I've got the bloody chickens," Al grumbled . He was, however, secretly pleased at Najid's display of chicken-obsession; it had been the first such display since Abby had been taken. The young boy, although evidently still harbouring some guilt that it was his running away that had led to Abby's kidnap, had risen slightly out of his depressive slump. It seemed that the action of moving onto pastures new was having a positive effect, for which Al was thankful. Even if he occasionally moaned about, and at, the young boy, he was truly glad to have him back.

It was early morning, and the group were shifting items from the house into the cars. Greg, still not quite up to hauling heavy things into cars, had taken on the role of directing the others as to the best place to put everything. Or, as Al called it, "being a bossy git". Sarah, as per usual, was attempting to take too much stuff in numerous unsuitable bags. Upon Tom gazing upon all her bags and then giving her a withering glare, however, Sarah had a swift re-think, and managed to pack a single, practical bag. Tom had directed many of these withering glares at her over the last few days, but Sarah had simply pursed her lips and tried to be as innocuous as possible. She still felt that her place in the group was standing on thin ice, and she had no desire to irritate the volatile Tom.

Finally, Tom and Al managed to tie the straps over Greg's car, holding everything in place. Sarah looked relieved, physical labour not being one of her strong points. It had been decided that Al, Najid, Sarah and Greg would go in the Greg's car, and that Tom and Anya would go in the smaller car. It was Tom who had made this particular arrangement, since he had a deep desire to be as close as possible to Anya, and a definite distaste for being close to Sarah. Thoughts would often run through his head about the possibility of killing Sarah for her betrayal, but these thoughts were mitigated by his feelings for Anya. He didn't want her to hate him for killing someone, even if that person was the one who sold her out to Samantha Willis. There was also the fact that if he became a murderer, the group would undoubtedly throw him out of their little group. Tom, although he could not truly understand other people, and the only person he really cared about was Anya, he knew that for the time being, he was better off with a group than on his own. These circumstances, on the other hand, could change, and he was perfectly willing to kill Sarah if he felt the need.

"Right," said Greg, slapping his hand on the bonnet. "That's all done. We'd best get moving, there's no point hanging about. We'll go in front, Tom, beep your horn if you have a problem and we'll do the same for you."

Tom nodded at this, and they set off. It had only been a few months, but already they could see that the roads were starting to look unkempt, wearing slightly at the edges. At one point, Greg had to swerve sharply as he came upon a piece of road that had crumbled due to a tree root growing underneath. Tom slowly drove around the damaged bit of road after seeing Greg's near-accident.

"I wonder how long the roads are going to last?" Anya asked him. "We've all been worrying about getting petrol and maintaining cars, but what are we going to drive the cars _on_?"

"Hopefully we won't have to do much driving after we move. Anyway, maybe it's better like that. In a few years, it'll be more difficult for people to find and attack us. Like Willis."

"Dexter will have told them all about it by now," said Anya, leaning her head against her window.

Tom glanced at her. "No one knows where we're going. It'll be fine."

It was mid-afternoon when they came upon a small farmhouse in Dorset which seemed suitable. The house itself had no dead bodies, and they assumed that the inhabitants must have tried to drive to a hospital in the town. It was a large house, with five bedrooms and numerous outbuildings. Outside, there was a very large vegetable garden and several greenhouses, although most of the vegetables seemed to have rotted. Greg gave a slight sigh at seeing this; why had they spent so long at the other house? A few weeks ago, most of this could have been salvaged. However, the best thing that they had found, in a field beside a fast-flowing stream, had been a small herd of cattle: a bull and four cows. While searching one of the other farms in the area to see if it was suitable to live in, seven more chickens were found, and, best of all, a cockerel. Watching Najid and Al make up names for the new-found animals, Tom and Anya unpacking the goods, and Sarah left to nervously coerce a cow into the barn, Greg smiled to himself. If only Abby were here, he thought.

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About a mile out of the bunker, Sami slowly pulled in to a side-street, and got out what appeared to be a long-range walkie-talkie. He switched it on and made a series of clicks using a pen against the receiver. Abby looked on in astonishment. Almost immediately, a series of clicks sounded out from the other end, and Sami continued to listen intently. After a few muffled noises, a man's voice rang out.

"Sami? Did you get out ok?"

"Danny. We're fine. Has anyone found out yet?"

"No. I checked on Greaves, he's still sat waiting for you to come back with Abby, and Whitaker's holed up in his office. I reckon you have a good hour before either of you are missed."

"Good. What about the helicopter crews? They're still agreeing to keep this on the quiet?"

"Yes. Let's say they don't exactly sympathise with Whitaker's actions. They'll keep it a secret, don't worry. You'd best get a move on. I'll get back to you when you're discovered missing."

"Thanks, Danny. Bye," said Sami, with a rather sad tone. He pulled out of the side street, and started to drive along the main road. He started getting up to speed on the motorway, about 90 miles an hour.

"Should we be going this fast? And who was that?"

"We need to get as far away as possible before they discover we're missing. That was Danny, someone who's helping us escape."

"So we're going back to my friends?" Abby asked him. Now that she was out of the bunker and on the motorway, her nervousness was being replaced by an excitement at being reunited with the people who had become like a second family to her. She was still worried about whether Greg was alive or dead, however, and so excitement and trepidation at finding the others mingled together so that she felt slightly nauseous.

"Well. You are. I don't know if they'll like me being with them," said Sami with an uncertain smile.

"You might as well. We need more people. Where are they anyway?"

"Dorset. They're at a small farm near the coast. Take about an hour to get there, I reckon."

Abby smiled wistfully. "Sounds nice. How do you know where they are? Those helicopter pilots you were talking about earlier, are they the ones who found them?"

Sami nodded in response to this request, too deep in his own thoughts to talk. Seeing that Sami wanted quiet, Abby stifled all the questions about the bunker and all the goings-on there, and relaxed into her seat. She was going home.


	6. Reunion

Chapter 6- Reunion

Now, the reunion! Also, I have included a bit (a lot  ) on where the virus came from.

Thank you to Obsessed, Bella, and Elizabeth.  I love reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I will never own them.

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Sami had said that it would take them an hour to get to the farmhouse in Dorset, and he was correct. As they pulled into the drive, Abby heard shouts from inside the house. She smiled to herself as she recognised Najid's yells: he had been found. She felt internally surprised that this information did not surprise her- she had somehow known that Najid would be there, safe and sound. Greg, however, was another matter. She had seen how badly he had been damaged, the panicked expression on Anya's face.

Suddenly, she saw several people run out of the house. Tom held a shotgun, and Al and Anya were just behind him in the doorway. As they looked in the van, trying to identify this unexpected intruder, looks of shock came across their faces. Abby stumbled over undoing her seatbelt, and quickly scrambled out of the car. She heard stunned voices as she did- "It's Abby!", "Abby's back!" She ran to hug Anya and Al, and when Najid ran through the door, she held him tightly to her. Tom, on the other hand, stood with his shotgun firmly pointed at Sami, who was standing next to his car door, awkwardly watching the reunion.

"Who're you," said Tom, rather viciously. Upon hearing the tone of Tom's voice, Abby turned, rather alarmed.

"He's a friend. He helped me escape. His name's Sami."

Eyeing up the gun which Tom still had pointed at him, Sami hastened to agree with her. "Yes, that's right. Sami Masood."

Tom seemed to consider the man for a moment before suddenly dropping the gun. The action made Sami jump slightly, and he continued to stare at Tom. Tom, however, did not say anything, and attention soon turned back to Abby. Crisis averted, Abby, tense with fear and anticipation, spun quickly to Anya and asked her the question she had been contemplating ever since she had been captured.

"Greg? Is he ok?" she asked desperately of Anya.

Anya smiled in response. "He's fine. I promise. He's working in the field out there, with Sarah."

Abby felt a huge burden lift as she heard this news. She let out the breath she realised she had been holding for hours, and let her face drop into her hands. When she emerged, she was smiling. Grinning gleefully, she flung her arms around Anya, but before Anya could hug her back, she had run off towards the field pointed out. As she turned the corner of the barn, she saw him. He had wood and nails, and was trying to get a rather sulky Sarah to hold it up properly. He was attempting to explain something when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glance of her. Stunned, he dropped the board, unfortunately onto Sarah's foot. From across the field, they smiled at eachother.

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Later that night, after the group had had their celebration of Abby's return, and discussed all the happenings since they had been apart, they each went to their beds, excited about the next day. Since there was limited space, Sami was to sleep in the living room by himself. They all said their goodnights to him, and finally he was alone for the first time since Danny had come bursting into his office back at the bunker. As Al closed the door behind him, he sat heavily on the sofa that was to serve as his bed and stared at the flickering light of the lamp before him, and he started remembering.

It had been four months ago now. He had been working in his laboratory, the same as he had worked for years. Working for Whitaker had not lived up to the dreams he had had at university, the solo research into cures for cancer, AIDS, malaria, the worldwide recognition and awards. Stuck in a lifeless laboratory, his main work consisted of tedious, uniform work, dedicated to checking and rechecking chemicals and formulae, usually sent from other, larger, laboratories. Although he found the lab work boring, he had never lost the passion for science, and much of his spare time was spent experimenting. Most of the experimenting was not sanctioned officially, but Whitaker, proud of his new prodigy, afforded him greater liberties than he otherwise would have done. The experiment he had been doing was not a cure for AIDS, but rather a test, to see if he could combine a strain of influenza and mix it with the bubonic plague. It would have been destroyed straight after, of course, but the ever-inquisitive Sami had been intrigued to know if he could create such a thing. Thrilled, he had managed to do it, and was looking proudly at his achievement when the dinner-bell rang.

It was the day when everything had gone so wrong. Back from dinner, he had suddenly been reminded of some work he had forgotten to do, testing some chemicals from Geneva. The work had taken him hours, long into the night. Feeling his eyes closing against his will, he finally finished. He packed up the chemicals back into their box, and sent them express to Geneva. After several busy days, he finally had time to look at his own personal experiment again. Taking out the vial of liquid, he decided that he would have one last look at it under a microscope, and then have it sent to the incinerator. It wasn't a good idea to have such an item lying about. Carefully, with all the cautionary measures he had placed around this particular experiment, he looked down the microscope at his invention. He frowned. This wasn't right. It was with increasing horror that he frantically re-adjusted the microscope as he stared down. Swallowing back nausea, he slowly realised what he had done. The vial which he had used to contain his experiment had been the same as the ones the laboratory in Geneva had sent. In his exhausted hurry to pack up the Geneva vials, he must have picked up the wrong one, and sent the vial containing his own virus. Panicking, he calculated the dates. The express delivery would mean that the package would have been delivered three or four days ago. It had almost certainly been opened by now. Stumbling towards the bathroom, he held onto the toilet as he vomited into the bowl. Wiping his mouth, he knew what he must do. He would have to go to Whitaker; he could call the laboratory at Geneva, and maybe the situation could be solved without serious incident. He ran full-pelt down the corridor, pushing bemused colleagues out of the way as he went. He near-collapsed into Whitaker's office, and proceeded to tell him what had happened. After the tale had been told, Whitaker stared into space for several minutes, until Sami decided to prompt him.

"Well?" he asked, almost shouting. "Shouldn't we call them? Tell them what's happened?"

Sami's voice seemed to break a spell, and Whitaker, startled, raised his head. "No. No, we mustn't do that."

Sami looked at him, confused. "What do you mean? They have to know!"

"Do you have any idea what this will do to the reputation of this laboratory? To have such an incident?" Whitaker shot at him, grasping the edge of the desk. "No. It will be fine. The vast majority of the chemicals from that laboratory are sent here to be tested for efficacy only. Once they are sent back with the results, they incinerate them. It shall be fine."

Sami was rendered mute by this. Perhaps it was true what Whitaker said, that the vial would be destroyed before it could do any damage. He hoped so. He continued to stand there for several minutes, hoping that Whitaker would say something else, do something to reassure him, but Whitaker merely took out some paperwork, and with a hand-signal, he waved Sami towards the door. As the days passed, they had heard nothing else, and slowly, Sami started to hope that maybe everything had turned out alright.

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_Geneva, Four Months Ago._

Lukas Amiel was the first person to get the day at eight o'clock, he set off from his small apartment building and cycled the two miles to the large science laboratory where he worked as a low-paid lab assistant. Most of his work involved filing and putting away orders which had been returned from various other laboratories around the world, and so it came as no surprise to him when he arrived at work and found a package from England on his desk that Monday. He looked at the sheet of instructions that his superior had left for him, and gave a sigh. The vials were all to be opened, and the contents to be poured into several large beakers for his superior, Marchand, to work with later. Marchand was, yet again, working out of town, probably at one of those conferences. At least they were harmless substances, and did not need the time-consuming cautiousness that was often necessary.

That night, after Lukas had stopped off at the busy supermarket to collect the milk his wife had requested, Lukas arrived home to his wife and his little girl, Analiese. Tomorrow, Lukas thought fondly, was Analiese's fifth birthday. His brother Michel was to arrive in the morning with his wife, and Lukas's three little nieces.

Three days later, on the Thursday, when Michel and his family had returned home, Lukas was called into the office of Marchand. Marchand had arrived the day before, and had only just managed to have time to look at the substances from England. As Lukas entered, Marchand looked at him with a polite, kindly quizzical look.

"Lukas," he said. "Did you do the work I set out for you on your desk before I left by yourself?"

"Yes, Monsieur Marchand," said Lukas, pointing out the beakers on Marchand's desk. "Look, I set them out as you asked."

"I see that, Lukas. But one of the beakers contains something that is an anomaly. This department certainly did not produce this...anomalous substance. Did you make a mistake? Could you have mixed up one of our beakers with one from a different department?"

Lukas, although he was only a low paid technical assistant, was a hardworking young man, and was offended by this idea. "I promise, Monsieur Marchand, I opened only what was sent from England. I did precisely as you asked. If there was any mistake, it was not of my doing."

Marchand frowned slightly at this. Irritated, he sent Lukas Amiel away, and looked at the beakers on his desk. He picked up the offending beaker and sealed it, and then crossed over the office and opened the door. "Alain!" he called, and Alain quickly walked over to him. "Alain, this has been contaminated with some strange substance. It is now useless to my work. Please dispose of it." Alain nodded, and hurried off with the beaker.

The next day, Lukas was feeling ill. His wife called into the office, and spoke to Marchand, informing him that Lukas could not possibly come into work today. Putting the phone down, Marchand rolled his eyes slightly. Obviously Lukas was feeling guilty about the mistake he must have made, and decided to take the day off until it was all forgotten. Ah well, Marchand thought, there was very little work today, a Friday. No harm done.

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Three days after Lukas Amiel was found to be ill, Whitaker made a casual call to the laboratory in Geneva, requesting some information that was more than slightly unnecessary, and then falling into a rather one-sided conversation. Marchand thought Whitaker's questions rather tedious, but he was a very polite man, and was trying to find a way to end the conversation nicely.

"I am sorry, Monsieur Whitaker, but I am afraid I will have to break off our conversation sooner than I would like. We are very busy today, since so many of my colleagues have been taken ill over the weekend."

"Oh?" Marchand heard Whitaker stifle a gasp. "What seems to be afflicting them?"

"It appears to be influenza. Unusual at this time of year, but not unheard of."

"How many?" Whitaker demanded.

If Marchand found Whitaker's attitude strange, he did not say so. "Out of the thousand people we have working here, 100 are ill today. We had to send 5 home from work already." Whitaker was silent at this, and Marchand began to feel concerned. "Monsieur Whitaker? Are you quite alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I am well. Thank you, Monsieur Marchand."

Before Marchand could reply, Whitaker cut him off abruptly, slamming the phone onto its cradle. 1 in 10 people in less than a week had it in Marchand's laboratory. This meant that the time from contracting the virus and feeling the full effects of the illness was about 4 to 6 days. Who knew how long it took to feel the effects to death, for it would certainly come to that in the end. Sami had said that the virus was a cross between influenza and the bubonic plague, and that it was particularly virulent. With a world of aeroplanes, cars and huge expanses of roads connecting everything to each other, Whitaker knew there was very little time. There would be no time for quarantine; it was already too late. But he could save himself, and his colleagues. They could find a vaccine. There were living quarters at the lab already, that would not be a problem. Since the laboratory had a lot of trouble from those animal-rights activists, they had a lot of security staff. It was certainly workable, he thought.

It took two days to organise everything. Whitaker had engineered a fake project, one that would require all his best people to live in for the best part of a month in order to finish it, that had been sent to them from the British Government. Much grumbling had occurred, but things such as this had happened before, although not for so long. The laboratory workers were, for the most part, single bachelors, primarily dedicated to their work. Whitaker, as he controlled the finances of the laboratory, spent thousands on adequate survival food and equipment. By the Wednesday of that week, all the workers were inside the bunker. The doors were locked.

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	7. Missing

Chapter 7- Missing

Thank you to Bella and Obsessed for the lovely reviews!

This chapter is about Whitaker and the rest of them at the bunker. But if you're very good and I get lots of reviews I will include some Tom/Anya next chapter. Review!

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Although Danny had given Sami only one hour before Whitaker would discover that he and Abby were missing, it was quite by chance that it took almost eight hours. Whitaker usually checked on Abby mid-to-late afternoon, but this particular day, Whitaker and two of his colleagues had been very excited over something that appeared to be in Abby's blood. There had appeared to be some very slight remnants of antibodies, but closer inspection had revealed that the sample work had been tainted. After an hour's raging in his office, Whitaker had stomped to the Rec Room, intent on getting some of the slowly-diminishing supply of coffee. As he opened the door, the two inhabitants of the room, the two men who had assisted Whitaker in working with the blood sample earlier that day, looked up.

"Hello, Whitaker," one of them said warily, as he nervously shifted on his chair.

"Warren," Whitaker acknowledged, giving him a tight, brief nod.

Warren looked at the man beside him, who was reading a magazine that he had now read 20 times. The man, Appleby, looked back and sighed. It was always him who had to broach difficult subjects with Whitaker.

"Whitaker? Warren and I were wondering. You know, all of this search for a vaccine, well, it could all be for nothing anyway. The virus has killed off everyone who could get it on the outside. With no people to infect, the virus has probably become inactive all on its own. We could go out..."

"Probably? You're risking all our lives on probably?" said Whitaker furiously. "We have no proof that that's the case! For all we know, that virus is just waiting for us out there. Yes, we could go out. We could have a nice few days. Then we would get ill, wait for a few days, and then it would kill us too! I refuse to put my life in jeopardy on _probably." _

"Maybe some of us do want to put our lives in jeopardy!" Warren burst out, surprising his companions. "The search for a vaccine is fruitless! We don't even have the original substance for heaven's sake, we've no idea what we're looking for."

"Sami recreated it as best he could." Whitaker said coldly.

"Even if he did, nothing's working with that, either. We want to leave," said Appleby, matter-of-factly.

Whitaker did not react to this news, instead concentrating on slowly, mechanically, stirring the sugar into his coffee while staring directly at the point above the microwave. Appleby and Warren were emboldened by this non-display, and held themselves slightly taller.

"We aren't the only ones," said Warren. "There's been talk of leaving for about a week now. We want to leave. Appleby and I...we're going to call a meeting."

Whitaker's head shot up. "You don't have the authority to call a meeting", he said, with a trace of anger.

"There's no such thing as authority, not anymore," said Warren, boldly. "We're calling the meeting for after dinner."

It was with this statement that Warren and Appleby decided to leave, intent upon shoring up support among the rest of the ranks. Whitaker was left standing there, coffee forgotten, as he carefully planned how the next few hours would go.

Dinner was a tension-filled affair, with people whispering to each other, crossing tables to confer with different groups. Whitaker sat silently, with his close-knit gang of cronies, mostly gun-wielding guards, who liked Whitaker's current regime, some even believing it did not go far enough. On the other side were the scientists, discussing the pros and cons of leaving or staying. Eventually, Whitaker stood up and quietly informed everyone that the meeting would take place in the large Rec Room.

The meeting went fairly amicably at first, but emotions soon ran high when some of the dissenters, including Danny, Warren and Appleby, started attempting to rouse some of the others into arguing. The only people not at the meeting were Greaves, who was still waiting impatiently for another guard (who had forgotten completely, deciding he would rather be at the meeting instead) to relieve him of his guarding duty, and of course, Sami. The fact that Greaves was not there did not surprise Whitaker, and in any case Greaves' presence would have made little impact, but Sami's non-appearance did. Sami was probably holed up in his room, he thought. He had been doing that a lot lately. By the end of the meeting, it was put to a vote: Who would stay, and who wanted to leave. All of the guards wanted to stay, as did most of the scientists. It was only nine people who decided they wanted to leave, including Danny, Appleby, Warren, and the helicopter pilot who had found Abby's friends for Danny. Danny had not wanted to leave, but his friend convinced him that he should; once Sami was discovered missing it would not be long before fingers started pointing. Also, with the break-up of their forced community, the safety and security Danny had stayed for had disintegrated. As they left to pack, Danny made a slight detour with his helicopter friend. He had seen Whitaker looking around for Sami, and did not want Whitaker to get the pilots staying behind to be able to look for Sami, or them for that matter. With his friend's help, he managed to sabotage the helicopters beyond repair.

It was later that night when the leavers were ready. Some of the people who were staying were still in the Rec Room, including Whitaker. Warren stood awkwardly in the door.

"Umm, we'll need you to open the door for us?"

"You can leave through the underground car park," Whitaker stated calmly. "You can take a couple of cars. Jacob here will take you to the lift to the car park."

"Oh, er, thank you," said Warren, slightly confused. Whitaker had not been exactly accepting of their leaving, so it was strange that he would allow them to take the car.

"By the way, Warren, is Sami leaving with you?" asked Whitaker.

Danny decided to speak up. He had known Whitaker would ask this question, and was prepared for it. "No, he's staying. He's in his room, he said he wanted to be alone for a while."

"Very well," said Whitaker, relieved. He nodded his head to them in goodbye, and then turned to the remaining people who had decided to stay. "You may as well get yourselves off to your room," he told them. "We have a big day tomorrow."

The small procession led itself to the lift, headed by a silent Jacob, who pushed the button to the lift for them.

"See you later," said Jacob, quickly exiting to the side and out of a door.

Appleby stared at him as he left. "He's one I won't miss. Strange bloke, that."

As the lift doors opened, the group entered it jovially, glad to be leaving, even if they were nervous about going to the outside world. They talked excitedly on the way down. As the doors opened, the conversations stopped sharply as they looked at the scene before them in shock. Four armed guards were pointing guns directly into their faces. Two of them used their feet to shove a metal board in between the doors at the same moment Danny yelled in fright and smashed his fist against the "Doors close" button. He heard rather than felt the bullet tearing through his chest.

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Whitaker sat at his desk patiently, his hands folded in front of him. He stayed in this position for several long minutes, until finally Jacob, one of his most loyal guards, knocked on the door.

"Enter," said Whitaker. Jacob stepped into the room, removing his helmet from his sweat-stroked face. "Well?" Whitaker asked.

"All dead. It was like one of those video games," said Jacob, smiling with amused relish. Whitaker turned away, slightly repulsed. He was a cruel man, but he was not a sadist like Jacob. Jacob seemed to sense Whitaker's distaste, and took a more professional tone.

"All dead, Sir. What do you want us to do with the bodies?"

"Incinerator. Make sure you clean up after them as well."

"Understood, Sir." Jacob nodded and left the room.

Whitaker remained at his desk, his hands folded in the same manner. He had made a decision. Abby Grant's blood sample had produced nothing of value, nor had any of the other tests. It was time to do a post-mortem. It was regrettable of course, particularly since he had promised Sami, but Sami was a naive idealist. He would have to learn that there were certain decisions that a leader simply had to make for the survival of his people, even if they were difficult. Abruptly, he rose from his seat, and started to make his way down the corridors. He was surprised to see Greaves walking towards him.

"Did your relief guard get there, Greaves?"

"No, Sir. It's just that I was wondering if you were going to bring her back soon?"

Whitaker looked at him in exasperation. "Bring _who _back, Greaves?"

"Mrs. Grant. That Sami Masood guy took her hours ago for some tests. It doesn't usually take this long."

Whitaker stared at him in horror. "We haven't done any tests on her since this morning. I didn't tell Sami to do anything!". Panicked, he ran to Sami's room and flung the door open. Sami was not there, and more importantly, neither were his belongings. Whitaker swore under his breath, and then ran back to Greaves, who was still standing in the same spot. "What time? What EXACT time was she taken?"

"I don't know," Greaves said, worried for his own safety. "I swear, I don't know anything! It was seven, eight hours ago? Maybe?"

Furious, Whitaker ran down to the car park. He turned his head, revolted, from the lift and held his nose. He waved to the guards, and they jogged over.

"Yes, Sir? Is there a problem?"

"Are there any vehicles missing from this car park? Any at all?"

They looked slightly bemused at his question, but obediently cast their eyes around the room. One of them seemed to notice something, and Whitaker prodded him to speak up.

"I'm sure there was another van. Over there."

Whitaker had realised what had happened almost immediately after Greaves told him Sami had taken Abby, but knowing there was a missing vehicle had confirmed it. He made his way back to his office, and made his plans. He would send a helicopter out first thing in the morning, only one, he thought with frustration, since only one of his pilots hadn't been in the group that had tried to leave. It would have to wait until first light, since the pilot wouldn't be able to see anything on the ground. He let his head fall into his hands. He had to get Abby and Sami back. She was his subject; he was his top researcher. He had to find them.

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	8. Whispers in the Dark

Chapter 8- Whispers in the Dark.

Disclaimer: I do not own them. If I did, they would not have been pratting about for so long.

Thank you to Bella and Obsessed, as per usual.  To my other, um, very few readers, please review for it makes me happy.

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_Three days after the Reunion. _

Anya looked at her watch worriedly. It was eight o' clock at night. Tom had left at 7am that morning, saying that he had to get some more unusual supplies, and that he could take until late that night. She knew that Tom was perfectly capable of looking after himself, but she couldn't help fearing for him. He was far too gun-happy, and one day it could get him killed. She supposed that he was used to it, though, he couldn't have been incarcerated for nothing. What would have been stigmatising for Tom before the plague had become something of an advantage: he knew what people were like at their worst, and he could play on that knowledge to help them all survive.

She was jolted out of her thoughts by the sound of the door. Tom stepped through the threshold, carrying a large box, looking weary but satisfied. As he saw her he gave her a smile which she quickly returned.

"What did you get?" she asked him as she manoeuvred around the kitchen table towards him.

"Go get the others. I'll need help getting all the stuff from the cars. Then I'll show everyone together," he said as he put the box down on the table and opened the door to go out to the car again.

After all of the boxes had been brought in, which, Sarah had noted, had been very heavy, Tom stood at the head of the table as the rest stood around curiously, waiting to see what was in the boxes that had taken Tom so long to obtain.

"Well come on, mate, we haven't got all day," said Al impatiently.

Tom looked slightly amused by their enthusiasm, and so he opened one of the boxes.

"Al, look, there are guns in there!" said Najid, fascinated.

"Yeah, thanks Naj," said Al, rolling his eyes at the boy's unnecessary comment.

Abby frowned. There certainly were guns in the box that Tom had opened. As he emptied the box, she counted 2 rifles, 1 shotgun and several handguns. Nestled amongst the guns were hundreds of rounds of ammunition. As he laid them on the table, he stood back silently, and waited for their reactions.

"Where did you manage to get all of them from?" asked Greg incredulously.

"An army base. There's loads of other stuff, too," said Tom, gesturing towards the other boxes.

"More guns?" said Sami nervously. He had not forgotten that Tom had pointed a shotgun at him soon after he arrived he did not want to bring too much attention to himself. He had been quiet since his arrival, yet doing his duties with a certain youthful interest which had endeared him to the others. Sarah, seeing a new man, had followed him around for a day or two, hoping that she would find a replacement for Tom in a quest for her saviour, but had given up when she found Sami to be both very politely uninterested and not the strong masculine type.

"No, just that box has guns. That one," Tom pointed out, "has more ammunition. The third has long-range walkie-talkies, torches and batteries. Fourth and fifth have bullet-proof clothing, that large one over there has kerosene lanterns and kerosene, as does that one, the three over there have basic survival and camping equipment, and this last one," he said, thumping the box on the chair next to him, "is an example of some long-storage freeze-dried food used in the army".

"An _example _of?" said Abby, confused.

"I'm going back tomorrow. There's loads more stuff. No one else has found the place yet. I found a padlock and shut the gates, I've got the key here."

"Well we can go with you..."said Abby, but she was quickly interrupted by Tom.

"I'll need the backseat to load stuff onto," said Tom. "And I need Anya with me in the front seat."

Anya looked rather surprised by this, as did the others. If Tom were to take anyone to get supplies, they would have expected it to be Greg. The others decided that they would not voice their surprise, excepting for Sarah, who was still bitter that the potential new safety she had looked forward to in Sami was a failure. Bob, Greg, Tom, Sami... they all either rejected her or failed to live up to her expectations.

"Why does Anya need to go with you?" she asked him petulantly.

"There are medical supplies and drugs there. I need Anya to tell me which ones to bring," he said to the group at large, refusing to acknowledge Sarah. "That ok with you?" he added to Anya questioningly.

She smiled at him. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'll need to use your van". Tom said to Sami. Sami was aware that Tom was not really asking, but did not mind in any case; it wasn't as if he was planning to go anywhere.

"I suppose we need to stay and protect this place and look after the animals anyway," said Abby with a reluctant air. She had grown very fond of Anya, and although she was not ungrateful to Tom for all he had done for them, there was no question that the man held some undesirable qualities. She didn't want her young friend to get hurt.

Greg smiled at her, his eyes sharing her concern, but trying to alleviate her worries. "We'll stay here. You remember those non-hybrid seeds I brought back yesterday? We'll sort through them and look at the gardening books I got and see when to plant them."

"I don't see why we have to plant anything," said Sarah. "It's not as if there's not enough food out there for the rest of all of our lives."

"But not enough for the next generation. Not enough for Najid and Peter, and Linda's little baby. We need to make a start on creating a new life, and it had better start sooner than later," Abby argued, giving Sarah a hard glare. Sarah simply crossed her arms and stared down at the floor. After a long silence, Abby continued, "Anyway, we all have a long day tomorrow. Let's get some sleep."

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Whitaker stared at the dark-haired young man who stood fidgeting before him.

"What do you mean, there's nothing you can do about it? Try again."

"Sir, it's not a lack of trying- the helicopters cannot be fixed! It must have been one of the pilots who did it. Before they left."

Whitaker smacked his hand down on the table in frustration. The young man jumped. "What about new parts? If we got some new parts, would the helicopters be alright?"

"Those helicopters are pretty rare, and they were made in Germany. I don't think we'll find any spare parts in England," the man said, as he sweated profusely. He had been hearing rumours. One of the men had heard something that sounded like gunshots and yelling a few nights ago. Another had been looking out of his window to see the people who were leaving go; he waited for hours, but a car never emerged. It had also not escaped notice that Sami, Whitaker's favourite protégée, had disappeared, as had the Grant woman. Despite Whitaker's attempts to keep everything that happened that day a secret, whispers continued to fly around the bunker, and fear and paranoia were rampant.

"Very well," Whitaker snapped. "Go and get Jacob. I need him."

As the man scurried off, Whitaker slumped back in his seat. It had been a pressure-filled three days. Trying to hide the events of that day had been difficult, and he wearily suspected that he had not succeeded, considering the conversations that stopped when he entered a room, or that most of the bunker was afraid of him. Only Jacob seemed to approve of his doings, along with his cronies.

As Jacob heard the stuttering man say that Whitaker wanted him, Jacob gave the man a condescending smirk, and to impress his cronies, a shove for his trouble. Jacob was well-aware that with Sami gone, he was the closest thing to a confidante that Whitaker had. Had he been an intelligent man, Jacob would no doubt have hungered for the power that Whitaker had sustained, but he had no head or passion for politics, and instead preferred to be on the winning side in order to perpetrate the senseless violence that he enjoyed. Before the plague, the police had suspected him on numerous occasions of armed robbery, GBH, and sexual assault, but were never able to get anything to stick. He sauntered to Whitaker's office and entered.

"You called for me?" he asked.

"Ah, Jacob," Whitaker said, looking up from the same paperwork that had littered his desk for days. "Tomorrow morning, we're going on a trip. Get three of your best men, and make sure you're all armed and properly isolated from the plague. Get another isolation suit for me. We leave in exactly twelve hours, at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Make sure we're ready."

Jacob nodded and left. Whitaker rose and started stacking his paperwork yet again. It had occurred to him only yesterday, the question of whether Sami had taken an isolation suit on the outside with him. A quick inspection of their inventory had proven that he had not. He had been on the outside for three days now, in contact with outsiders, probably sharing their food. There was no way he couldn't have contracted it, Whitaker thought incredulously to himself. For all Warren had thought the disease was now "inactive", Whitaker thought differently. Sami, as far as Whitaker was concerned was lost to him; as soon as the virus took hold he would die fairly quickly, perhaps even in a day or so he would get sick and die. It would be far more difficult without Sami, but it could be done. Now he just had to concentrate on getting the Grant woman back.

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	9. Holding

Chapter 9- Holding

Bit of a filler chapter I'm afraid, folks. Necessary, though.

A thank you to Bella for the lovely review. Also, I have suddenly had a huge amount of people from Sweden reading this. I'm intrigued as to how you've all got to be here. I'm assuming that Survivors has recently aired over there? If you could leave me a review and tell me, that would be nice.  Actually, even if you're not Swedish, still leave a review! Reviews help to alleviate climate change. OK, that last bit's a lie. But review anyway.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

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The next morning, Tom and Anya set off at first light in order to go back to the army barracks that Tom had found. Everyone else cleared off all the breakfast things from the table, and Greg got out the gardening books. The others jumped slightly when he suddenly exclaimed "Oh damn!"

"Greg, what's the matter?" said Abby, slightly amused by the irritated look on Greg's face.

"We need pencils and paper. Rubbers, sharpeners, that kind of thing. I totally forgot," said Greg, clearly annoyed with himself. Greg hated failure, and he hated it in himself far more than in anyone else.

The survivors had got to know their companions better over the months they had been together, and so they recognised Greg's feelings. Al decided to alleviate his worries and immediately volunteered to go to the town in search of supplies. Naj and Sarah opted to go with him. Greg thanked them, and Greg, Sami and Abby stood looking at the gardening books as they drove off, unsure of what to do until the others got back.

"Oh," said Greg, remembering. "We have to test the soil and check out the land anyway. I got some soil kits." The other two nodded, and they went after him into the field.

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Al, Najid and Sarah arrived at a small arts and crafts-shop in the nearest town. Although food, petrol, water and other such supplies were in hot demand, other items such as clothing, stationery and books were easily obtained. Al glanced at the list of supplies Greg had quickly scribbled down for him, and proceeded to pull random items off the shelves using his entire forearm. Having completed his task, he called to the other two to set off.

As Al put the shopping in the back, Sarah started the engine and then looked at the petrol gauge. "Al!" she called. "We're running out of petrol." Al took a look at the petrol gauge and made a hissing sound with his teeth. They'd better get some more. He suddenly remembered his youthful days as a private boarding school student, which he spent with the rebellious crowd. One of those boys had taught him how to siphon petrol. He smiled and ran to the hardware store on the other side of the road, while Sarah and Naj looked on in astonishment. He soon came back with a curious looking device and some large bottles in a trolley. He gave them both a cocky grin, and then hooked up the device to the car, and soon enough, liquid started pouring out into the bottle.

"What's that?" asked Najid, fascinated.

"It's a siphon pump. We can get enough to go home and then some."

Sarah looked rather impressed, as did Najid. Al was occupied in being pleased with himself until he saw something out of the corner of his eye. "What was that?" he exclaimed.

"What is it?" asked Sarah, worried.

"I think I saw something. A person. They were watching us from over there, I'm sure of it." Al continued to stare at the space where he thought he'd seen something. "Come on, let's get back," he said abruptly.

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It hadn't taken Tom or Anya long to get back to the army barracks. Tom volunteered to find the food and wheel them back to the van in the trolley, and pointed out the medical hut to Anya. She was surprised and slightly disappointed to discover that there was little in terms of medical equipment or drugs; it seemed that the barracks sent any serious cases to the hospital down the road. Probably why there were so few bodies in the barracks, she thought to herself. Most of the drugs were very basic, such as paracetamol, and Anya suspected Tom could have easily worked the labels out himself, which led her to wonder why he had insisted on bringing her. She loaded up the sparse medical paraphernalia into the trolley she had brought, and took it to the van, where Tom was loading supplies.

"That lot'll last us a while," said Anya, approvingly.

"Yep. Did you get the medical stuff, then?" he asked her.

"Yeah. Tom... why did you ask me to come with you?" she inquired curiously.

Tom had realised when she had come out of the medical hut with two small boxes that she was going to ask questions, especially since he had misled her into believing there was a lot of stuff. He had noticed that Sami looking at Anya, and he wanted her to know that he felt something towards her, even though he wasn't sure what that was, before she decided to go off and have a relationship with Sami or Al, or any of the other numerous males they were bound to come across. Actually, he thought worriedly to himself, since he had discovered that Anya was apparently interested in women too, there could be competition from females too.

"I like you," he said rather bluntly, after a minute of silence. "I thought we should spend time together."

Anya had suspected that this might be the reason, but she had never thought Tom would say anything. He seemed to be so emotionally shut-down. She smiled at him.

"I like you, too."

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Whitaker had woken up hours ago. He had got washed, dressed, had breakfast, and then sat straight-backed at his desk until Jacob told him they were ready.

"Where are we going, then, boss?" asked Jacob. Jacob and his cronies had recently taken to calling Whitaker 'boss', presumably to solidify Whitaker's role of head of the bunker, unless Whitaker made decisions Jacob didn't agree with, of course. Perhaps luckily for Whitaker, Jacob had so far agreed with his decisions.

"We're going to that large community of people we saw up north. I'm hoping to find Abby Grant there. At least perhaps they will know where she might be."

"And Sami?" inquired Jacob.

"Most likely Sami is dead by now. If we happen to find him alive, execute him for treason."

"Treason?" Jacob asked, surprised.

"Against the human race," said Whitaker, looking at Jacob intensely. "He has potentially destroyed the last link we have to save the world. He must be punished."

"Very well, boss," Jacob smirked, liking the way this was turning out. Jacob was fine with executing people.

It took several hours to get to the place the helicopter had reported, due to some difficulties with the map, and of finding the entrance. Once they finally arrived at the gate, a man stood there with a gun, flanked by a group of haphazard youths, yelling that they come out of the van. Whitaker and his group acquiesced swiftly, having already decided to be nice to whomever they would find for as long as they would get answers. The man looked stunned when he saw the men in full body-suits, fully armed and all, getting out of the van. His cockiness quickly vanished, and he held his gun more pointedly, although he seemed to warily acknowledge that the other group looked tougher than his motley crew.

"Who're you?" he demanded.

"My name is Mr. Whitaker. I am here to ask questions about a Mrs. Grant, and where she might be. And who might you be?" Whitaker's voice reeked with entitlement, and an air of authority which he had not realised had become inappropriate in the new world.

"I'm the leader of this community. Dexter," he grudgingly replied, annoyed by this man, Mr. Whitaker's, attitude, but realising that he was not the top dog in this situation.

"Well, Dexter, may we come in?" asked Whitaker, rather condescendingly.

Dexter shifted on his feet for a moment, then brusquely nodded his head, and gestured to a ragged young lad to open the barrier. He also made a rather curious sign to a man standing a bit further off, who showed no sign of acknowledging him. Leaving their vehicle behind, Dexter and his crew guided Whitaker and his group to the main centre, glancing at them suspiciously from time to time. Whitaker was disturbed to see what looked like fresh graves with no markers by the roadside. Dexter saw him glance at them.

"There was a dispute over who was the rightful leader of this community. It was unanimously decided that I am the best man for the job," said Dexter, who gained a slight swagger in his step.

"Kill them, did you? When they wouldn't allow you to be leader? The ones who weren't unanimous, I mean," asked Jacob, with a smile on his face.

"I asserted my right to be the democratic leader, as willed by the people, by staging a revolution against our oppressors," said Dexter with a practiced air. It was evident that it had been repeated often, as his crew made only slight sounds of approval.

Whitaker quietly whispered to Jacob to let him do the talking; frankly, he didn't care what these outsiders were doing, but he needed to keep this Dexter sweet so he would tell him where Abby Grant was.

"Sounds like a very courageous act," said Whitaker in a pacifying tone. "When did the...revolution...occur?"

"Two days ago. She claimed she had the right to rule over us like some dictator," Dexter stopped slightly and snorted, "like we were her subjects. Said she had control over how much work we do and all the supplies."

Dexter stopped here in order to open the door into the main compound, and invited Whitaker and his companions to sit down in what looked to be a dining area. Whitaker decided to get down to business.

"Abby Grant. Have you seen her?" he asked.

"About 2 weeks ago by now, I reckon. They cleared out when one of their lot killed Gavin."

Whitaker was disappointed. That took them back to before they caught Abby the first time. It was no use to them whatsoever. He was irritated the man didn't say that in the first place, instead of leading him into here. Sighing, he pushed back his chair, and motioned the others to leave.

"Wait a minute," said Dexter. "I want to know who you lot are. Government?"

"Not quite," said Whitaker, moving swiftly, his fake niceties vanished along with his hopes of finding Abby here.

"Not so fast," said Dexter, suddenly motioning up to the balcony. There stood about fifteen men, all pointing guns at them. They far outnumbered Whitaker and his gang. "Put your guns down." Whitaker groaned as he suddenly remembered the hand signal to the man Dexter had made just before he invited them in. He must have planned this. He motioned to Jacob, who looked worried but impressed, and the other men to put their weapons on the ground.

Dexter smiled. "Bet you didn't see that coming, did you?" Now that he had the advantage, Dexter looked smugly at Whitaker. He walked around the small group almost mockingly, checking out their gear. "Nice stuff, this. Could be useful. What are they, some kind of bullet-proof suits?"

"They're protective clothing. The virus can't get in."

"Virus?" Dexter looked at him, bemused. "It's gone. We all lived through it."

Whitaker remained silent at this, realising that it wouldn't be good for Dexter to know that they had actually not lived through the virus, but had hidden from it. Dexter had already been distracted, however, and was calling to the men on the balcony to "assist these kind gentlemen to the holding room". As Whitaker suspected, this so-called holding room looked very much like a makeshift prison cell as they were unceremoniously thrown in. Dexter stood at the door looking down at them.

"You can stay down there until we decide what to do with you."

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	10. Things Unseen

Sorry for the long wait, I was distracted by university.  Thank you for the reviews, Obsessed and Chocolate scones! There will be a lot more Anya next chapter.

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When Al, Sarah and Najid arrived back at the house, Greg, Sami and Abby were labouring over some gardening books, working out the best place to put an orchard. As they entered the kitchen, Greg gave an irritated sigh.

"What took you so long? We thought something had happened to you!"

"Sorry. We got a petrol opportunity we couldn't let up. Anyway, we've got news."

The three crowded around the kitchen table looked up at the grave tone in Al's voice.

"What is it?" asked Abby. "Is everything ok?"

"Al thinks he saw someone," said Sarah, rolling her eyes. Sarah had firmly decided on the way back that Al was full of it; she had seen no-one in the town, and felt certain that Al was merely being paranoid. Perhaps this was more of a desire for normality than any real conviction that Al was wrong; Sarah needed stability, and the thought of seeing strange stalkers in abandoned towns upset her.

"I believe he saw someone," said Najid loyally.

Sami looked slightly worried. He turned to Abby. "Do you think it's Whitaker?"

An uncomfortable silence fell around the table. Abby and Sami had told them of Whitaker and how dangerous he could be, especially to Abby, and they knew all the details of Abby's captivity and how Sami had saved her. What they did not know, even Abby, was Sami's story before saving Abby. Sami had realised that he was not ill after several days in the company of the others; it was as he had expected, the virus had, having no hosts for some time, simply died out all on its own. At first Abby had deflected the others' questions, reasoning that Sami should have time to process things first. Inevitably, however, the time had come to tell his story a couple of days ago. Knowing that he would survive, he knew that to tell them that he was responsible for the virus would be social suicide. They would have cast him out immediately. He also did not give details on the vaccine or of the workings of the lab, making himself out to be a lowly assistant who knew very little. This had been accepted, though with not without a degree of suspicion from Tom and Greg he had noticed, but apparently his saving Abby countered any misgivings any of them had of his previous actions at the lab, and so he had been readily accepted as one of the group.

"Well, if it is Whitaker, at least he didn't see you," Greg directed towards Abby. "You should probably stay here at the farm until we know more. Other people can go to the towns for food and stuff."

Abby nodded mutely, displeased at being stuck at the house for days on end, but knowing that Greg's idea was sound. Later, after Tom and Anya had returned, the group continued to work on the garden and orchard design until it was finished and they all retired to bed.

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Whitaker paced around the small room impatiently. The other men watched him as he did so, sitting on the benches that were bolted to the walls. The room appeared as if it had been abruptly and badly refurbished recently; the benches were narrow enough and low enough that they had probably served as shelves, and several iron brackets stuck out of the wall, which looked to have propped up more shelves. Whitaker was enraged by his imprisonment, and had made a point for the first hour or so to shout various demands through the door of their prison, until one of his own men had yelled at him to "shut up or else". Fearing a mutiny in such close confines, Whitaker had immediately quietened down, but began to pace instead.

Dexter had no intentions of letting Whitaker out any time soon. The men with Whitaker, however, were another matter. Dexter had seen how Jacob had responded enthusiastically to his regime, and had observed how the other men apparently looked up to Jacob as their de facto leader and not Whitaker. He was under no illusions that his little society, like Samantha's, could quickly become precarious without the right enforcement of his rule. Jacob and his crew were the type of enforcement that Dexter thought he required, and he was determined that they would join him. As for Whitaker, he shrugged to himself as he got himself dinner from the counter in the kitchens, he could probably just bury him next to Samantha.

"Dexter?" he was interrupted out of his thoughts by Bob, who entered the kitchen rather unsteadily in his wheelchair, pulling himself weakly by his arms. "I was wondering if I could get some dinner?"

Dexter looked at the man and wrinkled his nose. Bob smelt dreadful, having not been washed or helped in the bathroom for two days. Dexter had decreed that time could not be wasted in assisting Bob; everyone was required to labour elsewhere.

"Dunno, Bob," Dexter grimaced, eating nuts while he waited for his dinner to heat up. "What work have you done today?"

"I haven't," said Bob, attempting to sound strong. "No-one would even wheel me out."

"Can't expect everyone to wait around on you, Bob. We've all got work to do. As the Good Bible says, if a man won't work, he won't eat. You didn't work today, you won't eat today. Simple as that," said Dexter, mock piously.

"You're really going to starve me?" said Bob, with a certain resignation in his tone.

"Survival of the fittest, mate, nothing personal" said Dexter with a shrug, and then his voice took a harsher tone, "Now get out, you're stinking up this kitchen."

Dexter watched Bob leave with a slight feeling of regret. It wasn't that he had anything against Bob, but cruelty was kindness in this case. Bob was simply too weak to survive in this world, and Dexter believed that it did no favours to keep alive those who were obviously not up to it. Perhaps it was cruel to starve Bob to death though, he thought to himself as he turned down the heat on the stove. Maybe it would be better to have someone wheel Bob out to the graveyard tomorrow and slit his throat. They shouldn't waste ammo on him. Dexter plated up his dinner and made his way to the Dining Hall. As he sat down next to one of his men, Reggie, he spoke to him.

"Reg, I want you to dig a grave in the graveyard after dinner."

Reggie looked surprised. "Who died?"

"No one yet. But tomorrow morning, I want you to wheel Bob next to the empty grave and..." Dexter slid a knife over the table to Reggie, and the man gave a grave nod to show that he knew Dexter's intent. "Try and make it quiet, eh, Reggie? Do it early in the morning. We don't need people making a fuss."

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They had stopped the van about a five minutes' walk away from the house. The last thing they needed was for anyone to hear the approaching vehicle. After the brief walk to the house, he nodded silently to the four men who accompanied him and they did their duties as had been outlined in the meeting. A young man barely out of his teens jimmied the lock of the front door, while a red-haired youth prepared the canisters of sleeping gas. They'd managed to get their hands on four of them, which had impressed Delainey, he thought, gratified. He took his own canister from the red-haired youth along with two others. They stood and waited impatiently for the young man to jimmy the lock, and when he did so, he gave a thumbs-up to the rest and made his way back to the van to wait for them. The four remaining slid quietly into the house, and split into two groups. He waved for the red-haired one to stay with him, and pointed the other two into the living room while they made their way upstairs.

The first door they came to held two men, one black and one white. The black man they managed to place the mask on and have him breathe it in easily, but the second woke up as they surrounded him on his bed. He fought viciously, but they managed to get the mask over his head without too much difficulty, and soon he was out like a light. They met the other two men on the landing, and they managed to drug the occupants of the remaining two rooms without incident. Having succeeded, they congregated in the kitchen, lighting a couple of the candles dotted around the room.

"Right, which ones are we taking again?"

He fished in his pocket and consulted a list. "The blonde girl, the younger brunette girl, and the kid."

One of the men looked surprised. "We're not taking any of the guys?"

He shrugged. "Delainey says we need more women and kids for future investments. If you want to lug a full-grown man to the van, be my guest."

"What about the other woman?"

"Not of proper childbearing age, she's no good to us. Come on, let's get a move on."


	11. Awakening

Thank you to Bella and Obsessed for the reviews!

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She woke up in a strange bed. She stared around through the pitch black, trying to make out features in the darkness and failing. She sat up and quickly moaned as she banged her head on something directly above her head. She felt upwards, recognising the wooden slats of a bunk bed as she traced her fingers over her head. Her eyes began to adjust to the dark and she saw that she was in a very small room. The door was in two parts. Light flickered through the cracks in the door. As she looked away from the door, she gasped as she realised someone was beside her. A girl...blonde hair...Sarah.

"Sarah?" Anya whispered uncertainly, shaking the girl. "Wake up. Sarah!"

Sarah would not wake up. Frantically, Anya checked her pulse, and let out a breath of air when she found it to be steady. As she moved slightly, she groaned. Her head felt fuzzy, like she was trying to think through a fog. Trying to ignore this, she lifted herself out of bed, stood up, and looked on the top of the bed. Najid. He was as still as Sarah. She half fell to the door, and peered through the cracks that were there. As she did, she noticed the floor move slightly, although whether that was reality or just her head, she did not know. The flickering light appeared to be from a fire, and she could see shadowed figures passing in front of it.

"Hey!" she yelled through the door. "Hey! Who are you? Let me out!"

A figure moved towards her and she jumped back from the door as she heard a key turn in the lock. She turned her face as the door was opened, blinking at the sudden firelight.

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Tom woke up to a pounding headache. Someone was pulling on his arm and calling his name. He made a vague moaning noise and tried to push them away.

"Tom!" yelled Abby. She looked despairingly at Greg next to her. "Do you think he'll be alright?"

"Maybe they gave him more of whatever they gave us. I think he'll be fine," said Greg.

"We don't even know how long ago it happened. They could be anywhere by now," Abby garbled in frustration.

" Wha's happenin'?" murmured Tom, holding his head.

"Tom!" Abby said as she leaned towards him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," said Tom, his regularly cool demeanour masking his disorientation. "Who were those men?"

"So you saw them?" asked Greg.

"Two guys...they shoved this mask over my head. Must've been some kind of sleeping gas. Is everyone alright? Did they nick off with our stuff?"

Greg looked slightly nervous at telling him the next part. He had seen how Tom had reacted when he had once suggested that he cared for Anya more than any of the rest of them, and his behaviour since had solidified in Greg's mind the idea that Tom had some serious feelings for Anya. He thought carefully before uttering his next sentence.

"They didn't take any of our stuff. But they took Sarah, Najid...and..."

"Anya? They took Anya?" Tom asked them furiously, his eyes going between the two of them.

"Yes," said Abby quietly.

"Of course they did," said Tom bitterly, flinging back his bedclothes and jumping out of bed.

As he did so, Al and Sami entered the room. Greg looked up and spoke to them.

"Did you find anything?"

"No clues as to where they went," replied Sami regretfully. "I found a large piece of wire by the doorstep. We think that they used it on the lock of the door."

"What about that person that Sarah, Naj and I saw around town? It could have been them that saw us, came back and took them."

"If that's true, they can't be that far away. We'll start with a five-mile radius, and we'll extend it if we need to," instructed Tom, pulling on a T-shirt.

"Tom, wait..." said Greg, standing in front of him.

"For what?" said Tom with a menacing air.

"Two people need to stay here, to take care of the animals and protect all our stuff."

"Abby and Sami," said Tom, volunteering two people. "Abby needs to stay out of sight of people and so does Sami. It makes sense for them to stay."

The others looked at each other. Abby made some movement to protest, but one look at Tom's face determined that it was best if he was given his way in this.

"Alright then," she said wearily. "You, Al and Greg get the car ready, and Sami and I shall pack the weapons and some food and water for you."

SURVIVORSSURVIVORSSURVIVORSSURVIVORSSURVIVORSSURVIVORSSURVIVORSSURVIVORS

Anya blinked in the light that suddenly filled the room she was standing in and saw a figure in the doorway. A young man, about the same age as her, was silhouetted against the firelight. He had dark hair and a nervous smile as he seemed to assess her for any danger.

"Who are you?" demanded Anya.

"My name's Daniel. What's your name?" His tone was curious but pleasant, as if he were meeting a new acquaintance at a dinner party. Anya stared at him, uncertain as to whether it was wise to give information to this young man, but figured that no harm could come out of him knowing her name. I

"Anya".

"Hello, Anya. Welcome to our little community. Would you like to come out and meet the others?"

"No, I don't want to _meet the others," _said Anya incredulously. "What I want is to go home with my friends. What did you drug them with?" she asked, gesturing to Sarah and Najid in the bed next to her.

"Just sleeping gas. Nothing to worry about. Apparently they gave you less than the other two, so they might be out for a while."

Anya continued to stare at him, something that was clearly discomfiting him. "Why did you take us?"

Daniel smiled patiently at her. "If you come out here, Delainey will answer your questions. There's nothing to be frightened of, Anya. We don't plan to harm you in any way."

Seeing little use in sitting around and waiting for Najid and Sarah to wake up, Anya cautiously left the room she was in. To her surprise, she found that her temporary prison was an old-fashioned gypsy caravan. Outside, a huge bonfire was burning, bathing nearby trees in a luminous orange colour. Autumn was nearing its end now, and the last leaves were falling off the trees, coating the fields. She gasped as Daniel suddenly slipped one half of a handcuff round her wrist. Seeing her struggle against him, he spoke to her gently.

"My apologies. It's just a precaution. We don't want you to run away."

He led her towards the fire, where a group of seven men sat eating tins of food while talking animatedly amongst themselves. The leader of the group was a man in his early fifties, his dark hair and beard peppered with grey, was the only one sitting on a chair. As the surrounding group laughed at one of his jokes, he looked up and saw Daniel approach with Anya.

"Ah! One of them's woken up at last. What's her name?" he addressed to Daniel, who responded promptly.

"Anya. Pretty name," he said, giving her a smile. "Joshua, Simon, go get the bench. Let Anya and Daniel here sit down."

Two men, presumably Joshua and Simon, got to their feet immediately and happily. All the men were young, none older than 30 or so. One lad looked only about 16. As Joshua and Simon placed the bench before them, Delainey invited them to sit down.

"Why are you keeping us here?" Anya asked of Delainey.

Delainey looked as though he was considering his answer carefully. "Well, Anya, you have probably noticed that there are only men here with me. We have a little community here. But to continue our community in the future, there need to be children. For children, we need to have women."

"Rape? That is what Sarah and I are here for?" Anya said angrily.

Several of the men glanced nervously at each other. Delainey gave a benevolent but patronising smile.

"Anya, have you ever heard of the Sabine women? They were taken from their nation and made as Brides for the Roman soldiers. They loved their new live so much that they refused to leave when the men came to take them back. You have an opportunity here, Anya. We're giving you a chance for a new life, a life beyond mere survival, but one where we can flourish. You can be one of the founders of a great civilisation, like the Romans, or the Greeks. I know how to farm, Aaron here was a builder, Jason knows a huge amount about agriculture, Simon here was in the army. We can protect you."

The men surrounding Delainey gave a nodding agreement to his rhetoric, and Delainey himself sat back with a satisfied smirk.

"That doesn't change what it is," said Anya coldly.

Delainey's smirk vanished, his humour gone. "Whatever it is, Anya, does not matter. What matters is the next generation. Individuals do not matter. It is the collective that we must protect. The individual must sacrifice themselves for the greater good of the people. That is the way things are now. Soon, you will come to understand that. When you hold your first child in your arms and sit in the house we have built, looking over at the farms we have cultivated, you will realise that we were right. Daniel, take her away now. We have to prepare the boats."

Daniel grabbed Anya's wrist and walked her swiftly back to the gypsy caravan.

"Prepare the boats? Why does he need to prepare boats?"

"We're leaving in a couple of days. For Italy. That's where our new home will be."


	12. Limbo

Chapter 12

First of all, first episode of the new series was awesome. Second, it is very different from my story. So basically, while it was awesome, you're going to have to ignore it when reading this.

Thanks to Elizabeth for the review!

Disclaimer: I don't own Survivors, and receive no money for this fanfic.

Anya sat on a plank of wood propped by two breezeblocks, with Najid sat beside her. Najid was playing with a Rubix Cube, seemingly immersed within the colours, but Anya knew he was missing home. She looked at him for a second, and felt a pang as she thought of those left behind. She moved her foot, and their guard, his features in shadow from the fire, snapped his eyes to hers in warning. She hadn't been trying to run, but was aware that it would be pointless; they would catch her in a second. Anyway, she wouldn't leave Najid or Sarah.

The snap of the fire made her look away, and she saw Sarah listening avidly to Delainey, who seemed to be pleased to have a more receptive audience than he had in Anya. He had not bothered to speak to Najid at all- he seemed certain that the child would go along with whatever he said. They had been here only a night and a day, but already it seemed interminable. Sarah and Najid had woken up a few hours ago. Anya had told them about their captors' plans to move them to Italy, and Najid had looked devastated. Sarah, however, had looked rather intrigued. When Anya fiercely told her that she could look a bit more upset, Sarah merely shrugged and responded that maybe Delainey was right.

Najid threw the Rubix Cube to the ground and sighed. Anya moved her feet to sit under her, earning another glare from the guard. She rested her chin on her hand and played with the laces on her trainers. They would be leaving for Italy tomorrow, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Tom stared at the map as Greg drove carefully down the country road.

"Can't you go any faster?" Tom threw at Greg irritatedly.

" Yes, I do. If they hear us coming, God knows what they'll do to them."

Seeing the logic of this, Tom acquiesced. He reflected inwardly, rather disturbed at what had just happened, although the others did not seem to notice anything amiss. Tom was always the logical one, working out solutions like an automaton, emotions being mere inconveniences that happened to other people. He knew that this break in his usual thought process was to do with Anya, but he had no idea what it was about her that brought about this effect in him. Whatever it was, it fascinated him. He needed to find her.

"Which turning?" asked Al from the back seat.

"Go left," Tom ordered Greg. They'd been at this all day. Tom had since extended the search area to 20 miles, but still no luck. It was dusk, and Greg was about to suggest that they turn back when they topped a hill and saw a bonfire blazing in the distance. Greg stopped the car and they pondered the scene. Al released his seat belt and propelled himself forward to lean in between the other two men.

"Is it them, d'you reckon?"

"Could be," replied Tom, his face grave. Greg could see the cogs working in his mechanical brain. "You stay here. I'll go get them."

"You're not going on your own. I'll go with you," said Greg firmly. "Al can stay with the car".

"I want to go!" Al said, stung by his dismissal.

Greg stared Tom down. He was not particularly worried about Tom, he knew he could hold his own, but Tom's violent approach worried him. He didn't want another Gavin incident.

"Whatever," said Tom, deciding the battle wasn't worth it. " Get closer to it, then we'll get out and walk."

When the bonfire was near enough, Greg parked the car and threw the keys at Al.

"Be alert. We may need to go fast."

Al having nodded his approval and climbed into the driver's seat, Greg and Tom set off cautiously towards the fire. It appeared to be in a field, and the pair moved into some bushes to the side. They were pleased to see that this was indeed where their friends were being held captive: they could see Anya and Najid quite near them, and Sarah sitting by the fire. They could also see a number of men, all of whom were keeping a close eye on their captives. They also appeared to be decently armed, and with only Tom's shotgun, they were at a severe disadvantage.

"Let's get closer to Anya, maybe we can get her attention".

They moved closer to Anya and Najid, cautiously timing their movements to coincide with the guard not looking. Soon enough, they were in whispering range. As they contemplated what to do next, Anya happened to look to the side and see them there. Her eyes widened slightly and she gave them a smile before turning back to the front, making sure the guard didn't notice.

Anya smiled inwardly as she sighed in relief. Tom was here. She glanced to Najid at her side, wondering if she should tell him, but decided against it. The guard might hear them whispering and demand to know what they were talking about. She suddenly became worried. What if Tom and Greg were just figuring out what was going on, and planned on coming back later? She needed to tell them about the move tomorrow.

"I'm not going to Italy tomorrow morning, you know". Anya told the guard stubbornly. She saw Tom stiffen out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh?" the guard inquired. "And where would you be going, Missy?"

"I'm staying here".

" Not according to Delainey," said the man firmly, as if that settled the matter. A few moments passed.

"It's Simon, isn't it?" she asked him, suddenly very sweet.

He looked suspiciously at her, tightening his hold on his gun as if she were about to wrestle it off him. He shifted from one foot to another nervously.

"Yeah".

"Simon, you can't think all this is right, can you? Kidnapping people?" Najid looked up, intrigued to know where this would go.

"Look, Anya, I know this is a bit harsh", said Simon, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "But that's life now, yeah? Anyway, wasn't my idea. " His last comment was muttered under his breath as he gave Delainey a look. Delainey noticed and put down his flask of tea, watching intently. Anya had seized on his last comment.

"You don't have to do everything he tells you to, you know. Why don't you tell him you think he's wrong?"

Simon looked slightly uncertain, and started to say something, but before he could, Delainey had walked purposefully towards them with a smile.

"Long day tomorrow. We're all settling down for the night. You go to bed, Simon, I'll make sure these two are alright."

Simon ambled off to bed, looking rather relieved to do so. Delainey gave Anya a smirk.

"Got him wrapped right round your little finger, haven't you? I'll have to keep an eye on you, love," he gazed at her for another second, before indicating towards the gypsy caravan. " Get in there, both of you. Don't bother trying anything either. You'll be guarded by two men all night"

As they saw Anya and Najid being led away, Tom gave Greg a look.

"I've got an idea".


	13. Horizon

**Chapter 13**

Thank you to my reviewers on the last chapter: Obsessed, Bella, Elizabeth and Arwen.

Disclaimer: I don't profit from this.

"What idea?" said Greg warily. He was nervous of the prospect of hearing an idea of Tom's: it could be anything from beating someone up to committing mass murder.

"You heard them. They're setting off for the continent early tomorrow. They must have a couple of boats somewhere near here. We figure out where they are, then wreck one of them. They can't take Anya if there's no room."

"And Sarah and Naj" Greg reminded him. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. "What if they just have one big boat?"

Tom shrugged. "We start shooting".

"Excellent," Greg muttered to himself. "So we're going to come back in the morning?"

Tom gazed at the gypsy caravan before shaking his head. "No. We can't risk missing them. We'll find the boats, sort that out, then sleep there."

Greg nodded. "I'm going to go tell Al the plan. He'll want to be here."

"Fine. But be quiet about it. We don't want any mistakes."

Anya woke up violently as the door was slammed open. She felt Sarah jolt awake next to her, and heard a muffled yell as Najid banged his head against the ceiling.

"Time to get a move on," said Delainey, with a broad smile on his face. "Weather's decent, we should be able to make the crossing."

Anya felt herself fill with dread. Morning was here and they hadn't been rescued. Najid jumped off the ladder and looked at her anxiously. She had filled him and Sarah in on Tom and Greg's appearance, and Najid, like her, was worried that they weren't going to be rescued after all. Sarah had listened to the tale silently, expressing no emotion towards the news. In fact, she had been distancing herself even further from them ever since she had spoken to Delainey.

They got up and dressed, and Delainey took them to the bonfire, which was now burning right down as the sun rose. Two of the men were heating some tins in a pan next to it and handing out breakfast. Najid looked around the campsite and peered into the bushes where Anya had said she had seen Tom and Greg. He received a sharp elbow and a warning glance from Anya, and understood immediately: he wasn't to make their captors think that anything was amiss. The aura around the campfire was quiet and fraught with a nervous excitement that Anya and Najid were distinctly separate from. Eventually, the meal was finished and everything was boxed up.

"Right. We're ready to go," said Delainey, the infuriating smile still stuck on his face.

Resigned to her fate, Anya gave Najid a hug and they walked down together, accompanied by a guard. A five minute walk down a craggy hill path led them down to the beach, and as they came down to reach Delainey, they discovered that something had finally wiped the grin off Delainey's face.

"What the hell happened here?!" he yelled, turning on the other men. They all looked shocked at the sight before them. Out of the two boats that were tied firmly to the jetty, one was completely destroyed. The engine had been damaged irreparably. The other boat appeared to be fine, but they were again surprised when three men suddenly appeared from the inside of the boat. The boat's platform was quite high, and Tom, Greg and Al had to shout to communicate.

"Ahoy there!" said Al raucously, earning himself a delighted grin from Naj. Tom gave him an irritated roll of his eyes before speaking directly to Delainey, who he had correctly assumed was the leader.

"Let them go or we'll destroy this one too. Then you'll be going nowhere." Tom pointed the gun at the engine.

Delainey was furious. "I won't take orders from you. Get off our damn boat!"

"How many of you do you reckon could get on this boat? Six or seven perhaps? I see you've brought a lot of stuff with you. Have to leave most of that behind if you're planning on taking them three."

"We'd have to leave a lot of it behind if we weren't" said Delainey angrily. He thought for a moment, and then raised a revolver that he had been hiding behind his back.

Tom shot him in the chest as soon as he raised his hand. The man was thrown backwards against a rock, and as he slid to the floor, blood started to pool around him as he let out a death rattle. Shouts emanated from the group of men, a couple of whom attempted to make a rush towards Tom in anger, but stepped back when he raised his gun again.

"You want the same as him?" Tom gestured to the dead Delainey.

The two groups felt themselves at an impasse, and Anya, Sarah and Najid looked back and forth at them, wondering how this would go down. Anya tried to shield Najid's eyes from the body, but Najid had already seen too many dead bodies to be hugely affected by one of a man he loathed.

Daniel, the man who had greeted Anya when she first woke up a couple of days before, looked edgy. The other men stared around, not used to not having a spokesman. It was Simon who spoke up, and when he did, his voice had a veneer of calm which masked his nausea.

"Say we do what you say, and let them go. You'll let us go, right? There'll be no more of.. _that. _" Simon gestured to Delainey's body in revulsion.

"I only shot him because he raised a gun to me first. I'm not interested in wasting ammo on you lot. Hand them over and be on your way. We'll never have to see each other again."

"Just let them go," said one of the men, Joshua. "Why are we stood here arguing? There's no room for all three of them anyway. Not with the other boat shot to pieces".

Simon's face betrayed his emotions, that he also had no desire to go up against Tom. Taking the three in the first place had been wrong, he knew, but Delainey had been so charismatic, made them feel that everything was alright. But now he was dead, and Simon was the logical next-in-command. Unlike his predecessor, he wasn't willing to fight for this.

"I'll let them go, ok? But you get off the boat first, yeah? And stop aiming that bloody gun at us"

Tom considered a moment and nodded to the other two. They jumped off the boat, and approached the group. Simon looked at them and then nodded to Anya, Sarah and Najid.

"Go on. None of us will stop you."

Najid and Anya ran to Al, Greg and Tom. Al grabbed Najid's neck and brushed his knuckles against the boy's head while Najid yelled at him to get off, grinning as he did, and Greg laughed at the two of them. Anya ran straight to Tom, but stopped right in front of him, looking at him rather questioningly. He stared down at her and tentatively stroked her hair before suddenly pulling her into his arms and kissed her forehead. He rested his head on hers and let out a sigh of relief. It was only after a minute or so that they all realised that Sarah had not joined them.

"Sarah?" Greg asked questioningly.

The other group had noticed that Sarah had remained with them, and seemed to be in some sort of conference with her. As Greg said her name, they emerged from their talk, and Sarah addressed them rather nervously.

"I'm going with them."

After a brief silence, Anya spoke up. "Wha...Sarah, what are you talking about?"

"There's nothing for me here. Not anymore," she gave a glance to Greg, and then Tom.

They all looked at her and then each other.

Al whispered to Greg. "Shouldn't we stop her?"

"How? She's her own person. She can group up with who she likes".

Al looked unhappy at this, but nodded. "If you're sure, Sarah".

"I am" said Sarah, smiling at them.

"We'll look after her" Simon reassured them.

"Si..." said Joshua, tapping his wrist, signalling the time.

"I'm sorry, we have to go. We don't know how long the weather will last," said Simon apologetically.

It only took about 20 minutes to load up, and all the men were on the boat, doing the last jobs, when Sarah came over to stand rather awkwardly in front of Tom, Anya and the others. They were uncertain as to how they should react; Sarah had always been a peripheral member of their group, yet they had an inevitable bond, and they couldn't quite believe they'd never see her again.

"Goodbye, Sarah," said Al, offering her a hug, which she accepted willingly. The others followed suit, even Tom, although Greg suspected this had more to do with appearing good to Anya than any genuine feelings of sadness over Sarah leaving them.

"Say goodbye to Abby and Sami for me?"

"Sarah, we really have to go now" Joshua shouted over the boat's edge.

Sarah gave them one last smile, picked up her bag and then ran off to the boat. It was a strange feeling as they watched the boat slowly go off over the horizon. Tom stood behind Anya, his arms crossed over hers, and they swayed together slightly. Finally, they could no longer see the boat. Silently, they made their way back to the car and drove home.

"So she's gone?" Abby asked them, stunned. "Why didn't you stop her?" she directed at Greg.

"How? Restrain her? She'd made up her mind, there was nothing we could do."

"Yeah. Yes, sorry," Abby sighed as she sat down heavily on the kitchen floor.

"Do you think she'll be alright?"

"Are you kidding? Her, all alone with a big group of men? She'll love it," said Al, injecting some humour into the situation. The others laughed.

Sami sat down next to Abby. "So what now?"

Abby shrugged. "We carry on."


	14. Decisions

Sorry for the long wait, people. Thank you to my reviewers:

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Chapter 14**

Whitaker paced the floor impatiently. It had been more than a week since Dexter had come to the cell and removed Jacob and his men, offering them a chance to live in the community as enforcers. None of them had looked back at Whitaker when they marched out, and he had heard nothing of them since. As he sat resigned on the floor, weakened with the exertion and lack of adequate nutrition, the door opened. Dexter stood in the way. He seemed to have smartened up since Whitaker saw him last, wearing a fancy suit, and it smelt like he wore aftershave. Flanking him were Jacob and one of his accomplices, smirking.

"What do you want?" he asked, disorientated.

"Jacob here's been telling us quite a bit about you, and what you were doing at that lab. We held a trial. I'm afraid you were found guilty of treason against the British people."

Whitaker stared at him. "Treason?"

"Your fault everyone died, isn't it? You need to be punished for your crimes against humanity."

"How could such a trial have taken place without me being present? That is not justice!"

Dexter smiled. "Well, there was only one person present at this trial. Me. But rest assured, Mr. Whitaker, everyone here is jolly annoyed at what's happened. We've told them all about it. Believe me, there won't be anyone rushing to your defence tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" said Whitaker warily. "What happens tomorrow?"

Dexter smiled, his eyes reminding Whitaker of a predator.

"According to the law..."

"Law? What law?" Whitaker said sharply.

"...you are scheduled to be executed by hanging tomorrow at dawn."

There was a silence, as Dexter regarded Whitaker with amusement, gauging his reaction. Whitaker fell back against the wall, bile rising in his throat.

"You can't do that," he whispered.

"Huh. Really?" said Dexter with mock surprise. "Because it looks like I'm the one holding all the power here, Mr. Whitaker. Not you."

"Just let me go. I'll never bother you again."

Dexter gave him another one of those sickening smirks, and then leaned in to talk to him with a whisper.

"No. Probably not. But Whitaker, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I don't give a stuff about the virus and what you did. Actually, I should thank you. Life's never been better for me. Free stuff whenever I want. Power. Anarchy. I can do whatever I want."

"Then why are you doing this?"

Dexter stood up straight again, replacing his theatrical stage-whisper with his normal speaking voice, seemingly serious for the moment.

"Hanging you in public solidifies my power base here, giving people an outlet for their anger and grief. You're the perfect person to blame, and I'm handing you to them on a plate. Plus, you're not the kind of man to accept authority. The benefits of you dying overtake the possible benefits of you living."

Dexter appeared to be waiting for a response, but he did not find one. Whitaker was slumped against the wall, unresponsive, having given up fighting for his life. Dexter motioned to Jacob that they would be leaving. As the left, he turned around and spoke to Whitaker again.

"We'll come for you tomorrow."

Abby sat at the kitchen table, lost in thought, as she waited for the others to finish their chores and join her. Al, Najid and Sami were already there. Greg was out milking the last cow, and Tom and Anya had left a while ago on a mission to collect water from the stream, and taking a while to do so. Abby smiled slightly to herself. She was apparently the only one to notice the pair's sudden enthusiasm for collecting water, wood, and going off in search of supplies. Although their little farm was starting to come together, most of their needs were still filled by scavenging.

Greg wandered in, hoisting another bucket of milk to join the one on the stove. Najid looked at it.

"Do we really need all that milk?" he asked.

"No. But now that two of the cows have had calves, we need to keep them in milk".

"What about the other ones? The ones you couldn't get to calve?"

Greg hesitated slightly, worried that the news would upset the boy, but it was no use disguising the reality of farm life. "We can't keep them fed if they're not giving us anything in return. I think those ones were too weakened after the virus to have any calves. I've been doing some research into preserving meat using smoke. We're going to butcher them when I've got the materials to build a smoke-house."

"Yeah, I thought that's what would happen" said Najid confidently. Greg raised his eyebrows slightly at the boy's maturity. Najid caught his look and responded with an offended air. "What? I'm not stupid, I know we have to butcher animals for meat."

Sami decided to change the subject, and addressed Abby. "What did you want a meeting for, Abby?"

She smiled at him in response "We'll wait for Tom and Anya to get back."

Suddenly, the door opened, and Tom and Anya entered the room. Their faces betrayed nothing, but the quick look that passed between the couple, and the slight lingering of Tom's hand on Anya's waist betrayed them to Abby, who was suddenly reminded of the early days with her husband David. Anya smiled at them all, and Tom gave them a nod.

"What were you wanting a meeting about, Abby?" asked Anya, sitting down next to Tom.

"Well, it's been a week since Sarah's gone. We've had one addition," she indicated Sami, "but the fact is, if we're going to start a proper community, we can't do it with only seven people."

"So what are you suggesting?" Tom asked.

"What I'm suggesting is that we need to find new people to join us, and we need to do it soon. People are going to get established in their own communities soon enough, and when they do it's going to get harder to integrate."

"Getting new people could be dangerous," said Al, concerned.

"Yes, but it's still necessary."

The others looked unconvinced, but Greg spoke up.

"She has a point. I've been looking at our plans, all the things we need to do, to sort out. It's going to be near impossible unless we can get more people to join us."

There was a silence as the others processed this information. Al nodded his assent, and after a little more discussion, the others followed suit.

"So, when do we begin?"

"Tomorrow".

They nodded in agreement with Abby's decision. As the evening wore on, the survivors slowly said their goodnights and went up to bed. Eventually, only Greg and Abby were left. After they had all gone, Greg turned to Abby.

"So what was it that you were afraid to say?"

Abby looked at him over the rim of her cup of hot milk before draining it and setting it down in front of her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do," he replied. "You were wanting to say something else before, when we were having the meeting. What was it?"

Abby appeared uncomfortable. "David and I tried for ages to have another baby after Peter. But we never could. I just accepted that we wouldn't have another baby, and at this point in my life I don't expect I ever will. We're all saying how we need to make this farm work for our future, but frankly we could probably live out our natural lives scavenging. The only reason that I can see to make this work is for our childrens' future."

Greg looked thoughtful. "So you want us to get children to join us? People with children?"

"Well, yes. But more than that." Abby was very uncomfortable with how the conversation was turning out. What had been going through her mind for the past week or so had seemed horribly similar to how Samantha Willis would think. She was unsure about how to vocalise her thoughts to Greg without alienating him. However, he seemed to have got it for himself.

"I think I understand. It's not just children already in the world. It's our own children. The children that will be born. We need to do it for them."

Abby sighed in relief, glad that Greg was listening to her without judgement.

"We have me, four men, and one boy here. Ever since Sarah left, the only one of us capable of having a child is Anya."

Greg was thoughtful as he listened. "You're right. We need to get young people who will have children in order to survive. For survival to be worth it." He stood up and drained his glass. "Look, Abby, I know what you're thinking. You think that this is what Samantha Willis would want."

"Isn't it?" she gazed up at him, her voice soft and slightly guilty.

"No. Willis would have told Anya about her maternal duty and practically forced her to get pregnant within the year, and done the same to all the other women there. You've got heart, Abby. You'd never force a woman to have a child, and if they decided to, you'd treat them and their babies with more care and affection than Willis has in her little finger."

Greg was a little worn out with the exertion of this speech. Abby had tears in her eyes, blushing at the compliment. "Thanks, Greg."

"Night, Abby".

"See you tomorrow."

So, that's the chapter. For those wondering, Whitaker is indeed executed the next day, and he will not be coming back in zombie form, so that is the end of him.


	15. Starlight

Thank you to my lovely reviewers, Alys and Bella.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Chapter 15**

It had been much debated how they would go about finding other people to join them. As their farm was growing, there was far more work to do. It was getting more difficult for the Family to leave their little farm, excursions to the surrounding areas to collect supplies being about the extent of their travel. Eventually, it was decided that they could spare only 2 people to go on a people-finding mission once every two days. For the first excursion, it was decided that Tom and Anya would go while the others worked at home.

It had also been decided that before they would go seeking out strangers, they would attempt to find people that they had already met. Linda and the others were out; being roamers, they would be near impossible to find, although they would keep a look-out. Jimmy Garland's group, however, could be possibly persuaded, but that was probably a battle for Abby. No, today Tom and Anya would be aiming to find Kate and her brother and father. There was no guarantee they would be in the same house, of course, it had been months. But they may as well try.

Tom and Anya woke up earlier than the others and set out. After they had planned the route on a map, they drove up North. As they bypassed towns and cities on their way up, the desolation became more and more apparent. As more time went on, the effects of lack of maintenance were becoming more and more obvious. Even though there were few people, they had to make several detours. One to avoid a burst riverbank, another to get around a collapsed building. As they entered one town, they were overcome with smoke. They had to quickly backtrack, working out a whole new route, as they realised that a large fire was sweeping through the town. These detours had extended their driving time to put their arrival in their old area at 11am.

"We should be careful." Tom said.

"We always have to be careful. What else is new?"

"I mean it," he said gravely. "This is Dexter's territory."

"Yeah, I guess," said Anya, worried. "Still, he's with Samantha now, isn't he? He won't be guarding supermarkets and joyriding round the streets anymore".

Tom remained silent at this, unconvinced by her reasoning. As they drove around the corner, Tom suddenly slammed the brakes. Anya jolted forward with a scream and then fell backwards into her seat.

"Tom..." she gasped. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Sshhh" he said urgently, his attention caught elsewhere.

Anya fell into silence and listened with him. After a few seconds, she heard a racket in what seemed to be the next street over. It sounded like a shouting match between a large group of people, which was getting louder.

"Do you think they've heard us?"

"Doubt it," Tom replied. "They'd have come running if they suspected anything."

"What should we do?" she asked him nervously.

"He looked ahead unhappily. "This road seems to join on to the road they're on."

"Can we go back?"

He held up his finger again. The sounds of cars revving was clearly heard through the otherwise still air. He swore under his breath.

"I saw an open garage back there. We'll drive in and shut the door. We'll have to wait for them to go away. Sounds like there could be a lot of them."

Anya agreed with this, and they drove almost noiselessly back a few streets to the garage that Tom had noticed. They parked, and they checked no one had spotted them before slowly closing the garage door. The garage itself had no car in it, and was almost bare but for a child's bicycle sitting in the corner. Anya stared at it sadly before Tom touched her arm and motioned for her to follow him through the door into the house, leading into the kitchen.

"The place has been raided, but they didn't do a very thorough job," said Tom, holding up a bag of crisps he had extricated from a cupboard.

"Good. We didn't bring much. We have one of the camping stoves and a couple of tins. If we're going to be here for a while, we may as well have something to eat."

"Agreed," said Tom, pausing briefly before hitting the floor and taking Anya with him. He was lying half on top of her as he placed his finger over his lip, signalling to be quiet. A car zoomed past the window, the people inside it shouting loudly and blasting music. The moment past, they suddenly noticed the position they were in, and an awkward tension set in. Tom was looking at her with something akin to desire in his eyes, but before Anya could do or say anything, he abruptly got up.

"We should go wait in the garage. There're too many windows in here. You go get the stove started, I'll get anything useful from in here."

As Anya turned to go back in to the garage, she felt confused. Something had happened just then, and what scared her is that she had wanted it to. If Tom was a normal man, she would be happy, she supposed. But Tom was very far from normal. He had been to prison, she knew, and the look in his eyes sometimes... he was a dangerous man. They'd never found out about what he did to get in prison. She was deep in thought as she set up the stove and got their meagre food supplies out, so much so that she did not hear when Tom re-entered the garage, carrying a few items of food.

Seeing her faraway look, Tom watched her for a moment before getting her attention. "Anya?"

Anya looked up at him. She held his eyes for a few moments.

"What?" asked Tom, clearly uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Depends on what it is."

She seemed to be considering something before she spoke next. "Ages ago, when we were in that pharmacy, I asked you what you had done before. You told me that you robbed things and killed a few people. I thought you were joking then...but you weren't were you?" The last part was said more as a statement than a question, and Tom realised that his game was up.

"No".

Anya let out a breath she had been holding in before nodding slowly to herself. No emotion was betrayed on her face, and the pair spent the next few hours in relative silence, with cars and voices from outside sporadically being heard, each processing what had happened in their own way. Finally, the cacophony of noise settled down and stopped. When it had been silent outside for more than an hour, Anya spoke to Tom.

"I think they're gone now."

Tom looked outside. It was spring, but it was still getting dark relatively early. "Makes sense, it's half six. Probably gone home."

"Really?" asked Anya, surprised. She had lost track of time. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "We can't go back home tonight then. It'll be dark before we make it back."

"We'll go to the farm tonight. See if they're there. Then we can get back as early as possible."

Having checked the outside to make sure the riotous group had left, they slowly made their way to the farm, and twenty minutes later, they had arrived at their destination. As they edged up the drive, Anya felt a moment of anticipation. She had had very little in terms of conversation outside of their immediate group. As they knocked on the door, they waited in the dusk for an answer. Another minute and they knocked again. Tom carefully tried the door handle. It opened easily, and the door swung open.

"Hello?" he called as he entered the house. No answer. After sharing a look with Anya, they got their torches out and began to search the house. They pulled the cupboards and wardrobes open, finding them empty.

"They've moved on."

Anya sat down at the kitchen table. "At least they survived."

"We'll have to stay here tonight."

Anya looked at him "The others are going to be worried when we don't come back tonight."

"Can't be helped," he shrugged. "There's sheets and things in the closet upstairs. Let's go to bed now, so we can get off early in the morning."

After a brief room allocation, they settled down for the night, but Anya couldn't sleep. Fed up of lying with her eyes closed and nothing happening, she walked over to the windowsill and sat down. Despite it being a cold night, she opened the window and peered through it, looking up at the stars. They were all so bright now. Before the virus, she'd never really seen the night sky in all its glory, all the lights of civilisation dimming it. It made her feel so alone, like she had in the few days before she had found the others, when she was wondering whether it was really possible if she was the only one left. But then she found the others, and she didn't feel so lonely anymore.

As she sat there watching the stars, she turned her thoughts to Tom. She felt a connection with him. She didn't know what it was, but whatever it was helped her to feel alive again. Suddenly she found herself moving towards the door, and padded across the corridor to the room where Tom was sleeping. She carefully opened the door and peeked inside. Tom was asleep. Hesitantly, she moved across to the bed and sat down on the mattress next to him. After a few seconds, he stirred, and then jolted up, his eyes wild. When he saw Anya his eyes softened, and he looked concerned.

"Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Mutely, Anya shook her head. Her silence seemed to confuse him and he looked at her questioningly. After a moment's thought, she leaned in and gave him a kiss on his lips, lingering for a few moments, so that he could not mistake her intention. As she leaned back to look into his eyes to gauge his reaction, he pulled her back to kiss again.


	16. New Beginnings

I'm afraid this is the last chapter folks! Pretty much nowhere else I can take this story, and we all want them to be happy, don't we? If you request though, I will write an epilogue.

Thank you to my reviewers!

Disclaimer: I don't own this.

The rising sun flooded in through the windows. Half-asleep and mumbling to himself, Tom tried to move his hand to block the light, but was momentarily surprised to discover that he could not. Looking beside him, he saw Anya asleep, using his arm as a pillow and wearing his shirt, and suddenly the night before came back to him. His head flopped back on to his pillow as he contemplated the woman lying peacefully next to him. Ostensibly, this was just the same as all the other times. Women had often come on to him; those who thought of him as a bad boy they could tame, who believed he would fall in love with them out of either hope or delusion. He never had, of course. They had been dispensable, something to be used for his personal gratification and abandoned when he wanted. But Tom had a niggling feeling that he could not abandon Anya so easily. He had had the opportunity after all; he could have allowed Dexter to take her. Had it been any of the others, he would have made an effort to find them again, but it would have been to ensure the solidarity of the group, not out of any personal feelings. He tightened his arm around her slightly as he remembered the strength of his anger and upset when they had taken her away from him. She stirred in his arms and began to wake, and Tom paused, wondering how he would handle this.

"Hey," he whispered in her ear.

She froze for a moment, and Tom worried for a moment that she regretted what had happened, but as the thought came to him, she relaxed back into his arms. "Hey."

"We'd better get going if need to get back. We don't want the other to worry more than they have to."

"Yeah. I guess so."

They moved off the bed together, Anya gathering her things and moving off to her room. Tom proceeded to gather his own things, and before long Anya came back, blushing slightly as she handed him his shirt back. He accepted it, smiling at her sudden shyness.

The journey back was calmer than yesterday, and they saw nothing of the joy-riders, but they did have a foray into a garden centre they saw on one of their detours. The place had evidently been found before, but whoever it was had taken only a few items, possibly they had been en route to somewhere and had little room in their vehicle. Other than this, the place was untouched. Being off the main routes, not many had passed this way.

"What do you think we should take with us?" Anya asked of Tom.

Tom considered the question. They needed surprisingly little other than stocks of food and water. Greg, proficient as ever, had most of the farming equipment and tools they needed. In the end, they decided to take all the preserves they found, a large store of candles, a few tools, and two wood-burning stoves and chopped wood to fuel them. They found some greenhouses round the back, but decided mutually that Greg should be the one to make a decision on a greenhouse. Packing up the car, they set off.

Within a few hours, they had reached home. As they pulled into the drive, Najid, who was tending to the cows, ran back into the house yelling. Abby and the others ran out of the house looking relieved. Anya was near pulled out of the car in hugs as the others demanded to know why they were a day late coming back. As Anya began to explain, Sami moved towards Tom hesitantly, looking as if he were going to pat him on the shoulder or make a similar gesture. At one look at Tom's death glare, however, he thought better of it.

Having heard what had happened in their absence, Greg nodded. "Just Sami and Abby planning on going to Jimmy Garland's place tomorrow, but if the greenhouses are there and haven't been smashed I'd better go too and get them. Anyway, if there are joy-riders randomly flying about the area we need more protection."

"We don't know they'll join us yet. They might not even be there."

"Is this a good idea?"

Everyone looked around at Sami.

"It's not a question of good idea or not. We can't build a community with just the seven of us. We need more people, that's the fact of it," said Abby.

Sami agreed, but looked to do so under duress.

"OK, we'll leave tomorrow. Tom, Anya, Al, Najid, do you think you can handle the farm ok?"

"We'll be fine. It's only one day," said Al reassuringly.

Early the next morning, Abby, Greg and Sami set off for Waterhouse. Using Tom and Anya's altered map, they made quick work of the journey. One hour in, Abby noticed that Sami was getting more jittery, carefully avoiding gazing around the outside of the car, and with a jolt she realised that Sami had barely seen the outside world. He had been cloistered in the bunker, his brief drive to Dorset had involved empty motorways, and their fear of Whitaker had led to him being limited to the farm. It had been weeks since they had heard anything from Whitaker, and they had decided it was impractical for Abby and Sami to be trapped at the farm.

"Sami, are you alright?"

"Yes," said Sami through a clenched jaw, sitting stiffly upright. He looked firmly at a spot on the dashboard.

"Next left, yes, Abby?" asked Greg, and Abby was diverted back to the map she was holding.

A few hours later, they had arrived at Jimmy Garland's home, Waterhouse. Greg proposed that they approach carefully, not knowing whether Jimmy was still there or not. As they got in front of the house, they could see no signs of life.

"Do you think they're gone?" asked Sami, relieved to be off the roads.

"I can't imagine him just leaving like that," said Abby, worried.

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, they heard a voice from around the corner.

"Abby?" said a boy.

She recognised the boy, whom she had seen briefly when she had been there before. She smiled at him.

"Is Jimmy here?"

"Yeah, he's round the back. In the vegetable gardens."

As he led them to where Jimmy was, Greg decided to speak to Abby.

"Abby, if they have vegetable gardens, they might have already settled down. Just...don't get your hopes up, alright?"

"I know".

As they turned a corner, Abby suddenly caught sight of Jimmy. He was working with another boy on a small patch of ground. He turned around and caught sight of her, and ran to greet her.

"Abby!" he said with relief. "We tried to find you. I'm so glad you came back." He hugged her tightly, and Abby hugged him just as hard back.

"You tried to find me? Why?"

Jimmy let go of her, and moved out of her line of sight, where the young boy he had been working with was standing.

"Mum?"

Abby stared at the boy in shock. It was Peter. Taller than he had been when she'd seen him last, more battle-worn, but still her son. Greg and Sami gaped in amazement as Abby ran to her son and held him as tightly as she could.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, stroking his hair.

"Come inside, Abby" said Jimmy. "We can share news."

They followed him inside, and they exchanged stories of the past few months. Peter had been with Phil Emerson at the hospital, and when he had become better, they had ridden around on horseback, attempting to find a community. They had found three or four people to join them on their trip, and eventually they had found Waterhouse. Jimmy had invited them to stay, and when he realised who Peter was, he had tried to contact Abby, but they had since moved on. Jimmy's community had grown from a mere group of teenage boys to 30 people, most of who were currently out scavenging. They had begun a farm, but it was not going as well as Jimmy had hoped.

"The soil's the problem. There's clay everywhere. We're planning on moving within the next couple of months."

Greg saw his opportunity immediately.

"So why not come live with us?"

Jimmy looked at him in surprise before turning to Abby questioningly. She nodded.

"We only have seven people. We need more to be able to farm effectively. We have cows, chickens, a couple of horses. We only have a small house, but there are more houses just down the lane."

Jimmy considered this. It seemed like a good idea. He had become quite attached to Peter, who would of course be going with Abby in any case, as well as his mother, and their little community seemed like a good one.

"I'd have to ask the others. We'll decide together".

It was several hours later when the others came back, with a lorry filled with food and several vans. As the people came out, they looked at Abby, Greg and Sami with confusion. They were a mixed bunch, about 15 young men and teenage boys, seven young women and teen girls, an elderly couple, and three children who looked to be from about 6 years old to 11.

Twenty minutes later, the entire group was sat in the living area, discussing the move.

"It would have to be in a couple of months," said a man who had been introduced as Malcolm. "We can't move all this lot until better weather."

"Will we be two separate communities who happen to be near each other, or are we making one big community?" a young blonde girl called Joanna asked.

"Just one community," Greg clarified quickly. Abby agreed, and Greg looked to Sami to get his agreement, but Sami was distracted. A dark-haired woman of about twenty-six was smiling at him sweetly, and Sami was nervously considering whether he should smile back.

"Sami?"

"Oh! Yes, just one community".

Nothing more to be said of practical arrangements, it was left up to a vote. Greg, Abby and Sami exchanged nervous glances, while the others were voting. Abby smiled happily when she saw the decision was unanimous. They would join them in the next couple of months. She hugged Peter sat next to her, and grasped Greg's hand.


	17. Epilogue

Last chapter! Well, it's been a long time coming. I'd like to thank all my reviewers who have commented over the course of this story, it has been much appreciated.

This epilogue takes place 4 and a bit years after the virus. I think that it's a satisfying ending, please tell me if you like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own characters, Survivors, etc.

Without further ado:

**Epilogue**

Abby sat on the wall, basking in the dawn light as she watched the maypole go up. They had started the tradition the year before, enjoying the excuse for another celebration. Peter and Najid were helping to secure the pole. Both were far taller now, Peter being sixteen and Najid fifteen, and it would not be long before they were adults. She smiled as she saw how true this was, with Peter gazing at young Emily, a fifteen year old who had joined the community with five others last year.

A small giggle caught her attention. A little girl was spinning around on the grass, her long blonde ringlets twirling around her as she span. The child's mother walked up to her, carrying a baby boy on her hip.

"Gracie," she chided softly, stroking the girl's hair. "You'll make yourself sick again if you get so dizzy." She looked up and saw Abby watching and smiled.

"Hi Abby," she said, walking over, carrying the baby and holding little Grace's hand.

"Hi Anya," Abby replied, stroking the baby's cheek as Anya stood next to her. "How's our Luke doing?"

"He's good," Anya replied, bouncing the tow-headed baby up and down in her arms. "He'll be five months old tomorrow".

"Mummy!" yelled Grace excitedly, pulling on her mother's arm. "Look, ribbons!"

"I think we're going to have to go see the ribbons," said Anya, rolling her eyes slightly. "Are you coming, Abby?"

"I'll be there in a moment," she nodded, seeing Greg moving towards them. He greeted Anya as she walked past, and ruffled Grace's hair.

"Hi Greg."

"Hi Abby. What are you sat here thinking about all by yourself?"

Abby looked thoughtful as she replied. "Just how far we've come, I suppose, in only four years. I'd never have believed it, back when we all met on that roadside, that we'd be living in a community with nearly sixty people. That we'd survive."

"No, I never did either. It was never in the plan."

Abby smiled. "Oh yes, the plan. Living all on your own in some mud-filled hovel out in the sticks?"

"Still a mud-filled hovel. It's just that I can't get a moment's peace," joked Greg.

They lapsed into silence as they watched the others finish their preparations. Tom walked up to Anya, gave her a kiss, then took baby Luke and listened to Grace's breathless exclamations over the ribbons.

"If you'd have told me Tom would be a good father a few years ago, I'd never have believed you," Greg shook his head rather incredulously.

"I think it's more to do with the fact that they're his and Anya's children. He loves her so much, he was bound to love her children too."

"Hey!" a sound went up, as several of the men and boys started to play football. The sound had come from Al, who had been trying and failing to tackle Najid. Both Greg and Abby laughed.

"He can't just cheat and pick him up and shove him to the side any more, can he?" said Greg, amused.

Abby searched with her eyes and found Al's girlfriend, Megan, who was holding Al's son, a small boy of one year old. "I expect he'll be able to do the same with little Nathan in a few years."

"Greg, come play!" yelled Najid, kicking the ball to Peter, who decided to do a few tricks, glancing at Emily, who smiled at him and twisted her straight, blonde hair round her finger. All the men, with the exception of Sami, were playing football along with some of the women.

"Duty calls," said Greg, patting her hand before making his way over to the others. Abby shifted herself more comfortably on the wall, not feeling like joining the larger group just yet. Al was attempting to show Nathan how to kick a ball, and Megan laughed as he instead hugged the ball to himself and toddled off with it.

Grace ran up to Abby and held up her arms. Abby lifted her up.

"Hello, Gracie. How are you?"

Grace pouted rather mutinously. "Mummy says we have to wait for the dancing 'til after they finish playing."

"Shouldn't be too long".

They had been sitting there for a while quietly when Grace suddenly smiled widely, and put on the tone she always used when confiding secrets. "I know some information", she said, stumbling over the long word. "I'll tell you it if you want".

"Do you? Is this information you're supposed to be sharing, Grace?" Abby asked her laughing, tickling her tummy. Grace giggled and wriggled away.

"Um," said Grace, her head tilted to the side as she considered, "Mummy never said I couldn't".

"Go on, then. Give me the gossip" Abby said, momentarily amazed at how much Grace had grown over the past 3 years. She still remembered when Anya had told them she was pregnant with her. It had been just before Jimmy and the rest of his group had joined. Anya had been in shock, worried about how Tom would take it. He had been very caring of Anya, but was ambivalent about the child during the pregnancy. Seeing Grace though, he had fallen immediately in love with the baby. When Anya discovered herself to be pregnant with Luke, he had been surprised to find himself happy about it.

"I saw Sami kissing Laura behind the chicken shed earlier," Grace whispered into her ear.

"Really?" Abby said, intrigued by this latest development. Laura had been trying to get Sami's attention ever since she had come with Jimmy's lot, and Abby was happy that Sami had finally done something about it. She hoped that Laura could help him. Ever since she had known him, Sami seemed like he had been hiding a sad secret that even the persuasive little Grace could not have wriggled out of him.

"Yeah," said Grace, nodding her head vigorously.

"3-1 to us," yelled Jimmy, arms up in the air, calling the end score of the football match. Jimmy had been a welcome addition to the community, and had been a valuable asset. Practical and dependable, he reminded her sometimes of her husband David. This would once have been a painful association, and thinking of David was still sad, but the memories and their son Peter were enough for her to be glad of. Abby and Jimmy had a romantic relationship of sorts, and though it was not what Abby would term serious, it was enough for both of them.

She was distracted by Grace indicating to be put down. "They've finished now! Come see me dance, Abby?"

Abby let Grace lead her to the rest of her discovered community. She was struck by the number of children that had been born since the virus, as she saw Grace run off to play tag with two of her little friends. Tom and Anya's two children; Al and Megan's Nathan; Jack and Amanda's three-year old twins Hannah and Michael; two year old Jacob and his month old sister Elinor. A woman, May, who had joined their group with Emily's community the year before had been pregnant before the virus, and her son Elijah was nearly four. Mark and Rosie, only twenty and nineteen, had a one year old daughter, Alice. Two year old Sophie, daughter of the pregnant again Josie and her partner Dan, completed the little crew.

Even as children were born, the community had still had to withstand losses to its number. Jack and Amanda's third child died of a suspected heart defect aged 2 weeks. Without modern medicine, even Anya had been unable to save the baby. Two of the older people in the community, both in their sixties, had died of pneumonia in the harsh winter of the third year. Their graves stood on a small plot of land, marked with wooden crosses.

Survival had been tiring, the first two years in particular, as they had built houses, latrines, outbuildings, a well. Greg and Jimmy had been ingenious in this regard, and Abby doubted they could have done so well without them. Now, for the first time, it looked as though they would be able to do well with the farming and survive off what they had grown without supplementing with pre-virus stores of food. They had learnt canning, preserving, they had even made a smoke house that preserved meat for throughout the winter. Learning to care for animals had been tricky, and they had been worried when during the first year, they had lost many of their animals. However, as they had to rely on whatever tinned meat they could find, they quickly learned about animal husbandry, and the livestock population had finally recovered enough that last October, they had been able to butcher enough animals to see them through the winter.

They had now worked out farming rotas, schedules, and chores that had dealt some conflict in the early years. None of the community had done much work in farming, and expectations of how hard they would have to work had been shattered long since. In busy farming times, 10-12 hours of work a day were necessary, and even on festival days, cows still had to be milked, eggs had to be collected, and vegetables for dinner had to be gathered. Even though they were spread out across 10 houses in all, most of which had been constructed not long after Jimmy and his group had arrived, work was communal. For women, the advances that had been made in the sixties with methods of preventing reproduction had been stopped and reversed in its tracks as contraception went out of date or was unavailable. In ten years' time, women who were having their first or second baby could easily be having their fifth or sixth. In any case, there was a gap of more than a decade between the youngest child who had survived the plague, a 14 year old boy called Phillip, and the eldest child who had been born after the virus, nearly 4 year old Elijah. To survive in the long term, as many children possible were needed to be born to work the land as the survivors of the virus aged.

As those born grew from infants to toddlers to small children, a generation was growing up who had never seen a television, never seen a school or nursery, or knew what coins were for. Even those who were teens or adults when the virus hit found it difficult to remember the details of pre-virus life as bits of it became irrelevant. They started to create a culture that was specifically theirs or recreated from what they remembered; festivals, music and dances. One of the survivors had built a wind flute and learnt to play it. Even clothing was changing. On one of their expeditions up North, they had found a community in Wales that had procured flax and traded for some. Last winter, they had built a spinning wheel and a small loom and spent laborious hours figuring out how to weave linen and wool from their sheep. In the process, they had been forced to alter their designs, which had been based on the clothes they had already been wearing, pre-virus clothes. Without denim, polyester, elastic, lycra, or easy manufacturing techniques, these clothes were difficult or impractical to make. They had turned to much earlier times for ideas, when people last had only linen and wool to make clothes from scratch with. Thinking of this, Abby took a quick count of the people around her, noting that many people were now transitioning their wardrobes to clothes the community had made themselves, creating a rather odd picture of people in dark denim jeans and brightly coloured T-shirts standing next to others wearing loose tunics or laced bodices and chemises in muted colours they had created from plant or animal-based natural dyes.

There were other communities, of course, like the one they had procured the flax from in Wales. Links were established with nearly twenty like-minded communities that could be found across England and Wales. There was some trade that went on, especially between villages in close proximity to each other, but the most valuable assets were in skills. Abby's community had done well in this regard, due to Anya's doctoring expertise, and Greg and Jimmy's various creations. People would travel the country to learn how to properly set a bone or how to make a loom and in turn, other communities had skills Abby's community was deficient in, such as farming or fishing, which they could impart wisdom on. This system, built in a co-operative effort to improve all of their lives, was working well, and standards of living were slowly being raised. Together, these communities had over 700 people and the number was rising.

These were not the only people to live in England or Wales, but they were the lucky ones. In the four years since the virus, disease, starvation and murder had risen to catastrophic levels, and out of 100,000 who had survived the immediate aftermath of the virus, there were 10,000 now living in the UK. Around 3000 lived in farming communities, some better than others. The remainder were a mixed bunch. Many had been part of communities that failed, due to a failed farm, rivalry between community members, or decimation by scavengers, and were either regrouping or trying to scrape a living from whatever food they could find in the cities and towns. Scavengers, numbering about 3500, were those who had never attempted to farm or work, instead roaming the country and collecting and hoarding whatever they could find. Bitter rivalries sprung up, and parts of cities and towns were burnt to stop a rival faction gaining control of a food supply. Some bands were more successful, and had quantities of food and supplies that could keep both them and their children fed for 20 years or more. Weaker bands found survival far more difficult, and as petrol became near impossible to obtain, they were often forced to walk on foot to wherever they could get food or water. It was these weaker bands that were mostly responsible for the attacks on established farming communities, stealing food or animals, or attempting to drive out inhabitants and take the farm for themselves. The communities, hearing stories of how scavengers had destroyed farms and killed people to get what they wanted, had a zero-tolerance policy for scavengers stealing the crops that would save their children from starvation in the winter. With ammunition in short supply, hanging was the preferred method of execution. Abby remembered the year before, when a group of three men had been found loading sacks of wheat in the dead of night. It was one of the only times after he had been with Anya that Tom's harder nature had come through, but at this stage of the survival process, he gained a good deal of support. It was reasoned that the men, if they were let go, could easily come back with more people, believing that their community was weak, and next time succeed in stealing enough that they would starve. The men had been held for three days until those who wanted to hang them won. Abby still winced when she thought of this, remembering Samantha Willis and the uncomfortable similarities.

Abby's thoughts were interrupted by a small tug on her jeans. "Hello, girls," she smiled, as Grace came up with her friends Hannah and Sophie.

"Can you help Sophie do the ribbons, please? She can't do it on her own, and her Mummy's too pregnant to go very fast."

Abby stifled a laugh as she agreed to help Sophie. As the music started, and she helped Sophie weave the ribbons in and out, she watched the smiling faces around her. Tom was holding Luke, Anya was helping Grace, Al was watching with Megan and Nathan. Sami had emerged with Laura, looking happy but confused. Greg and Jimmy weren't paying attention, but were engaged with a discussion that probably involved the new stove they were always discussing. Najid was sat with Al. Peter, her son, was watching Emily, who was one of the dancers. As the dance ended, Abby knew that, despite everything, she was happy.


End file.
